


Breaking the Horizon

by telepathy



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: 30 Days of BatB, 30 Days of Beauty and the Beast Challenge, Angst, Beauty and the Beast Fanfiction Celebration, Bookish Belle, Dark, Desperation, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Fate, Fate & Destiny, Fluffy, Handsy Adam, Heartbreak, In between moments, Intimacy, It'll get darker I promise, Longing, Magic, Memories, Mentions of Suicide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suggestive Themes, The woods are lovely dark and deep, Unresolved Tension, be our guest - Freeform, june writing challenge, warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 17:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 44,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telepathy/pseuds/telepathy
Summary: 30 Day June BATB Writing Challenge – A collection of short stories all about Prince Adam/Belle, Beast/Belle & the rest of the cursed crew! Chapter summaries contained within.





	1. Morning

**Author's Note:**

> 30 Day June BATB Writing Challenge, Day 1 Prompt: "Morning." 
> 
> First chapter is light, fluffy and involves a quiet little moment between Prince Adam & Belle at dawn. x
> 
> I've decided to do thestanfoubrew's 30 Day June writing challenge to celebrate Beauty & the Beast's release on blu ray, & of course, to celebrate it in general! Special thanks to daysinthesun for posting to AO3 & opening my eyes to this amazing feat! 
> 
> ••• Go here for all the daily prompts: https://thestanfoubrew.tumblr.com/post/161031220759/beauty-and-the-beast-fanfictionfanart-celebration •••

It’s early morning yet, dawn breaking the horizon only one quarter of an hour prior, and Belle is already at it. Ensconced within her favorite reading nook, surrounded by an army of fluffy duvets, the brown-eyed girl pours through a towering stack of novels, her fingertips fluttering, searching page after page. 

She seeks love today, only…a different kind of love, a tale as ancient as time itself; an unending romance of both the mind and soul - if she’s being honest with herself, Belle longs to read _their_ love story. And so on she goes, one book after the next, the thirst never quite satiated. 

“What seems to be the fevered rush of today, my bookish darling?” 

Belle turns her eyes north to see her Price adorned in a set of relaxing sleepwear, complete still with a lanky cap. He looks absolutely enchanting, albeit in a slightly more human way these days. 

“I…well, I thought I might try to find something like…us to read.” 

Adam manages to lift the burgeoning section of blankets before squeezing himself in beside her, “Oh, and by ‘like us,’ do you mean the ‘us’ of now or Mrs. Potts’ Beauty and the Beast version?” 

She slouches in utter embarrassment of being found out already, and at the same time, a tint of rose sinuously graces the apples of her cheeks. “Well, I thought perhaps…yes, before to curse was broken.”

The Prince nuzzles in close to her, lips brushing soft, heated skin at the nape of her neck, “And here I believed you preferred me this way to that…”

Bubbling waves of emotion crash ashore as she’s suddenly stopped by time and memory; she loves him now as she loved him then, but how might one choose the same man twice? Is it possible? Appearances notwithstanding, of course.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, my love. You were always mine and you always will be, I merely find I have a fondness for remembering all those heart wrenching moments of pushing and pulling we did before finally, we didn’t.” 

Adam smiles and laughs a spell, “You mean all the angsty bits up until I was shot to death by a feral man who desired you?” 

Belle rolls her eyes and slaps at one of his shoulders, “I thought you were the feral man who desired me?” 

The light-haired heir nods and presses his lips to her again, only this time on the curve of her shoulder. He whispers, “And I do, still. Forever.” 

“Now that we’re discussing the past, I thought for sure you would have kissed me on the dance floor that night, in the ballroom. It was so beautiful and you danced so brilliantly. Goodness, I thought I had everything figured out by then, too. I mean, you were so close and I was–“ 

Adam wraps an arm around her waist and tips her chin until she’s facing him, “I was a Beast, ma cherie. I mean, truly, what would you have done had I made such an advance? I’ve always been curious about this. God knows I wanted to from the moment I met you.” 

Belle’s head tilts down slightly, a bashful grin painted on by the edges of her ruby lips. “I wouldn’t have stopped you. How many times must I make claim that I fell for you long before admitting to it that fateful night on the balcony. Adam, my Prince, my Beast, I love you as is and as before.” 

He kisses her then, running needy hands through her hair and along the warm angles of her lower half, “Tell me, my Belle, was this the love the story you sought to read this morning? Ours?” 

She drops the pile of books on her lap and shifts to sit half on top of Adam, half off, a knowing glint gleaming in her eye, “I do believe it was, but tell me more, please? Tell me when you _knew_ , tell me of how I drove you mad and yet you valiantly saved my life. Tell me the thoughts you had of me when I was no where near.” 

He settles beneath her and pushes a loose strand of Belle’s hair away from her eye, “Only if you do the same when I’m done.” 

She nods excitedly and lays comfortably against his chest, shifting the duvet up to their shoulders before closing her eyes. Belle listens to a steady heartbeat as he recounts their beginning and middle, allowing the deep vibrations of Adam’s voice to return her to a place from their start. 

Sometimes she misses the growls and roars and rumbles, even the horns and the claws and the height, but never does she miss him.


	2. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast feels a lot of things during the Be Our Guest dining hall charade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 Prompt: "Jealousy." 
> 
> Ahh, my usual angst has returned. *hides*

Beast listens in, his heart pounding, eyes and thoughts lost to an oblivion; thrashing about in a sea of jealousy and ineptitude, he struggles to gain control, to understand. How could they? _Why_ would they? 

The music continues on despite his entitled surprise, the lyrics welcoming, inviting _her_ as a guest in his castle. _His castle._ He wanted to shove in and destroy the happiness, bat it down and away because just who do they think they are? Have they not the honor or loyalty to obey their Master any longer? 

But he makes no movement, paces no length, simply listens from the blackened shadows that adhere to him; they’re singing to her, in his grand dining hall, and from what he’s able to see by such a restrictive vantage point, she’s…smiling. His human-turned-object servants and staff are responsible for this stranger’s lighthearted ease and…not he. 

Up to this point, he’s only gotten so far as to anger and frighten the girl, which one can surely assume will not bode well for his future. Or hers, truth be told. 

Beast does little else but gaze downwards, mulling over how limited his options have suddenly become: he could ruin their jovial celebrations by knocking dinner plates together and candelabra heads in, or pretend as though he hasn’t seen anything at all. Through it all, he's realized how positively unwanted he’s become to everyone who knows of him. 

Perched silently, Beast wonders idly if she might flee if he opts to go with the former; might she even scream from sheer horror if he chooses the latter, though? Should he reveal himself there’d be no restraint to his words, no lead on his actions. He’d be frightening and untamable and she’d bare witness to that. 

A flicker of disgust marks Beast’s face at the imagined sight of the girl cowering from him. He knows immediately that he longs not to instill fright or dread…and so already a new thought begins to bloom: Perhaps he could be…more. More than what he is now; just then every hidden, secreted fantasy of what he might one day be gifted with rises to mind, calling into question considerations he's forgone years earlier. But...might it be? Perhaps. Only, of course, _if_ he is saved. 

He doesn’t have to shut down Lumiere’s impressively colorful – and impossibly loud – display of hospitality, does he? He could enter the room and revel in their soirée – being neither a nuisance nor a feared presence, but rather a patron alongside her. 

Beast shakes free from the feather-light grip of hope, the shredded and decimated robes he wears sending a plume of foul air into his sense. He stinks, hasn’t bathed nor cared about such trivial aesthetics in too long a time. And should he care now, should it matter? 

_”…one by one, until you shout ‘enough, I’m done!’”_

He’s drawn back into a scene of blinding magic, to which he watches from a northerly window, high and above them. As he should be. As he always was. 

Beast knows he mustn’t pay mind to the poor village girl that’s been taken as prisoner, must not regard her as anything other than the daughter of a common thief. Despite what Mrs. Potts says, you most certainly can judge a person by who their father is. Or was. 

The feral one sneers as the chromatic performance burns brighter than ever before – but everything else fades as his eyes latch onto her. 

She’s smiling, and it’s a wide and full and complete thing and the single most sublime vision he’s ever been privy to. Beast wobbles at that, two massive paws wavering from a sudden influx of heat coursing within. His knees are weakening, head swimming, lungs trapped with stagnant air and heart clenched with unspoken emotions. An ocean has captured him beneath its relentless undertow and her name is Belle. 

An audible gasp winds through but it goes unheard by anyone but he; the Beast is wrecked from the inside out, suddenly making a conscious choice to exit their party versus crashing it through a pane of glass. 

The music fades as night swells, surrounding him with a familiar comfort and an air of ease. This is where he belongs…the creature, the Beast, a misshapen, distorted figure that should never know peace or…or the beauty of a foreign town maiden. 

An urgency overtakes him, a primal need to feel anything but this. To return to a state of normalcy, where he knows he’s bested by none other. 

And so he runs, down on all fours, paws and hands and claws tearing at the earth one strike after the next. The wild mist of dusk assaults his nose in a collective bout of sweet, alluring smells, bringing with it a hint of venison. His lust is redirected elsewhere, each of the five senses heightened and aware of nearby prey. 

He can have this hunt, will claim this life. For he knows those are the only certainties allowed to him; never will she smile by his enchanting words, never will she see beyond the grisly facade. Because there is nothing there _to_ see. 

Beast roars at the trees, the clouds, the soft snowflakes that fall – over and over again he howls, his throat shouted raw and burning. Whatever prey had once been there is now long gone, though he’s not surprised. 

Nothing remains for him, nothing he can ever have that is meant to be held. There is only a jealous, broken heart, aching by the weight of what will never be. She is too far from him, too…too good. 

She could never…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying this so much! Thank you thank you thank you for all the encouragement and love already. I'm blown away! xo


	3. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Midnight. 
> 
> Prince Adam & Belle celebrate an anniversary at midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly suggestive...but here's hoping I didn't push any boundaries (though I tend to do this a lot with writing, so sorry ahead of time)! x

It’s midnight. But not just any midnight.

“It’s a milestone, you know.” 

Adam turns to his wife, offering a warm smile, proceeding with a fingertip or two, he brushes strands of loose hair from off her face. He wants to see her eyes always, tonight especially. 

“One year. It’s been one year since the raid on the castle and my shedding of the Beast. An entire year since you first said that you loved me.” 

Belle utters no words at the heartfelt recollection, instead opting to turn cheek into his palm, reveling in her beloved’s touch. “I wish I would have known…I’d have told you far sooner than _that_ horrid moment.” 

“Ahh but then would it have been real and true and passable enough to break the curse? I prefer our history just as it is, Belle. And look, here we are, three-hundred and sixty-five days out from the old way of things.” 

She grins and pushes him onto his back, repositioning herself atop his center; the woman wiggles a measure, eliciting a rumbled groan from the man caught beneath her.

“Ahh, but perhaps you and I could have had this sooner than we did. Surely you remember that first moment, how desperate we were?” 

He nods and sits up, wrapping both arms completely around her waist, “Had you ever once considered the thought…prior to this…version of me?” 

She starts at the desperate tone to his voice and swats at the hair messily resting on the front of her face, “Adam?” 

An exhale of discontent emanates, followed by a grumbled word or two before he shifts her off and steps out of bed. “I know it’s…odd, at least in theory, but if the curse had never been broken, would you and I have ever…been _more?_ ” 

Belle slips to the edge of the mattress and hangs a leg over, tucking its pair under the bulk of her weight. She considers the question, wholly and truthfully, taking into account ramifications and the weight of what it obviously means to her Prince. 

An heir stands before her, solidified by uncertainty; he knows Belle loved him as he was, as she does now, but…would that love have extended so far as to allow intimacy? He feels unjust to suggest or even fear a probable rejection, and yet. Adam knows he’s a blushing fool, his status being that of her husband, but it’s been a niggling thought since that first night with the wolves. 

She’s never made him feel less than a man, even when he was, but still, a lifetime beside someone without being granted a certain level of closeness would be torturous, no matter how chivalrous and understanding they both claim to be. 

“Would you have been able to have children, as a Beast?” 

The question sidelines Adam and he stalls at it initially, mulling it over, “I believe so, yes. The Enchantress never said anything to the contrary, so one could only assume I was quite capable. As I still am.” 

Belle grins at his final, suggestive sentiment, “Yes, we would have found a way. I know it could very well be an immoral act or perhaps even illegal, but you were no animal. Adam, I fell in love with you before I’d known you could exist as a what you are now. I don’t know if I’d have been able to go an entire lifetime without having… _you._ ”

His elation is tantamount, but a whisper of disgrace roils deep in the abyss of his belly – not at her admittance, but at himself for doubting she might ponder other, varied options. 

“Was that not well received?” The Prince’s wife asks this of him as she saunters from their bed to stand directly in front, and he offers nothing more than forced a half-smirk. 

“No, no, I’m disappointed that I needed a vocal reassurance from you. I know, my love, I know it would have been quite…wrong, but I-I–“

She covers his lips with hers and rakes two hands up and through a thick, unkempt mane; it’s not as overwhelming and wild as in days when he wore the curse, but it feels just the same. _He’s_ remained the same. Well, certain things, at least. 

“Adam your attractiveness wasn’t restricted to those grouchy moods and dreadfully somber views on life. You were quite appealing, what with how tall, strong and–“ 

“Okay, okay, now you’ve bribed me into thinking I should track down the wicked woman of the forest and ask her for a fortnightly favor.” 

Belle laughs at this and then raises a brow, “Do you think she might…?” 

He gasps in mock surprise and then hoists Belle high, repositioning two lithe limbs in a grip at his middle, “You’re utterly incorrigible. And here I tricked myself into thinking you’d not even fathom a kiss with me from back in that time.” 

“Haven’t you learned the lesson by now, my dearest Beasty? Beauty is found within.” 

They remain this way for a while longer, intertwined and lost to a forgotten world around them. The balcony where he perished and was resurrected lays just beyond, but there is no table, no rose and no question as to whether or not theirs is a future in the making. 

The girl suddenly breaks apart their union, her lips laced with a tint of pink from brushing repeatedly against his beard, “Would you have wanted me then, too?” 

Adam’s neck pulls to the rear, throat failing to trap a hearty chortle at her endearing innocence. “Oh, mon amour, I’d have begged for your hand the moment you emerged from that snowy night, if you would have had me.”

Belle grips his jaw firmly and sighs from a combination of bliss and euphoria, “You have me _and_ my hands now, what ever shall you do?”

A familiar growl fills the hallowed spaces surrounding as he carries her back from whence they came. Belle bounces along in his grasp, her arms holding tighter and tighter still; she’s unabashedly greedy to spend the three-hundredth and sixty-sixth night beside her Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, all! I've been invited & added to the 30 Day Beauty and the Beast collection, so yay for this amazing fandom! I'm feeling a touch of comedy coming on, so perhaps days 4 or 5 might bring some...chortles.


	4. Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast refuses a bath and all hope of breaking the curse seems lost – until an older man and his daughter arrive.

“Sire, I implore you, please. You must consider a bath. It’s been ages, quite literally, and despite not having a sense of smell, the sight of all _this_ is…difficult to be party to.” Lumière gestures at the large figure standing over him, tugging on a tattered strip of blue cloth. It once was a robe made of velvet, but now it’s not much more than matted rubbish.

The Beast growls and thrusts a shoulder in the direction of his irksome servant, “Why bother? Like you said, you have no sense of smell and as an aside, I have no real purpose, nor the right, to cleanliness.” 

“No right? Are you saying that you well and truly believe freshening up isn’t something permissible to you?” The candelabrum chuffs and mock-scratches his reanimated waxy head. His Master has always been challenging but this, _this_ is a new level of sulkiness he’s not come across in quite some time. 

Or perhaps he’s not spent enough time with his Master of late…either or, Lumière feels a bout of sorrow growing within. Despite the selfishness and abhorrent behavior of his Master’s former life, he had still cared for him, deeply. 

“Leave me.” The command is of a sad sort – one the light-man guesses the Beast doesn’t really mean. Almost assuredly said out of habit versus an actual desire to be left to his own devices. “No, Master, I’ll not be running off just yet. What I will do is have the steamed water and fresh linens brought in. You settle in the basin and scrub that filth from your mangy…mane. Ehm…Please?” 

The last bit comes on the heels of the towering creature dividing the space between them; a fearsome upper half and chilled blue eyes stare at the wicked tongue of _his_ servant. “And, pray tell, what shall happen if I do not acquiesce to your request?” 

Lumière shuffles in a healthy distance and grins nervously, his metallic brow line rising higher, nearing the lip of what would have been his forehead. “Sire, I only wish for you to care for yourself, if only in the smallest of ways.” 

A menacing sounds echoes through expansive halls and impressively tall ceilings as Beast processes the sentence. It’s an honest reaction, not full of malice and yet Lumière senses no humor behind it – at all. “I’ll be going now, my liege. If you change your mind–“ 

A vicious roar prematurely ends any final thoughts and he’s left to exit upon his own free will. He moves quickly, but doesn’t run or race from his ferocious Prince. Lumière knows he went too far, mentioned more than he rightly should have. Realizes he’s asked too much of him, even after all the time that has passed. 

Plumette is there of course, waiting on her love to reappear, and when he does, her angled face falls, “So, I gather he didn’t take too kindly to what we discussed?” 

“Not in the least. Didn’t help the situation that I mentioned he possibly care for himself, and yes, yes. I knew it was a mistake the moment the words escaped.” Lumière wraps a limb around the feathery object of his affections and silently they follow the path far and away from the West Wing. 

Plumette halts in the center of a dilapidated staircase and places a wing across Lumière’s chest, “…Do you think he will ever break the curse?” 

The candelabra sighs, languishing an inch or two before he covers his eyes with the wick of his right hand, “I used to believe he might, but now? No. His temperament is much too loathsome for any woman to willingly deal with. It’s a shame, really. I know somewhere inside he’s…he’s…well, he could have been more.” 

They continue on, never once paying mind to the shadow on their heels. 

Beast listened to them, hearing their exasperation and resignation and it was fevering. Who were they to suggest he may never find a woman to love him? To break the Enchantresses spell and free them all from this unending torment? Just who…what…no, they couldn’t be right. 

And yet, the farther the illumination of Lumière’s candles went, the more Beast began to see their plight. He _was_ a monster, a creature, a half-alive and utterly forgotten memory. 

The rage seeped out of him as he gasped for air and held tight to western walls and his shattered heart. He understood then that there couldn’t ever be a woman, there was no way through and beyond this prison he’s crawled within. 

“Master! Master there’s a man in the castle!” 

His ears perk at a stone’s echo that’s searching for his guidance, his protection; taking long leaps and great paces, Beast goes towards the voice that calls out in curiosity and a small touch of fear – Mrs. Potts. He descends the grand staircase silently, hoping to catch sight of the intruder in question. For chance it be an invader, or someone seeking the truth behind the strange doors of this icy palace? 

It’s neither – rather, the aged man appears to be oblivious, with gray hair and meager looking attire. A townsfolk, undoubtedly, but why is he…here? He compliments the ornate beauty of both Cogsworth and Lumière before warming himself by the fire. 

There’s a heavy clank sounding off to the man’s left in the direction of the dining hall and he wastes not a moment before going to inspect. _’Ahh, of course,’_ – Mrs. Potts has already arranged a meal and a spot of tea for the unwelcome. Beast makes mind to reprimand her about this at a later time – long after their “guest” has found his way back out into the cold. 

Chip, the little teacup Beast has barely spent any time with since transitioning into a loathsome, tempered thing, slides over and begins to whisper. Beast leans in, anxiously awaiting the man’s reaction; it doesn’t matter what Chip is saying, simply the fact that he _is_ saying something at all. Will this comfortable stranger flee or take an interest in the tiny boy-cup? 

Flee it is then. 

The man walks towards the entrance quickly, retrieving a snow-soaked jacket and speaking of gratitude and final farewells. It might have all been entertaining if not for the direction the elder takes once he’s riding off through the front gardens again. 

The rose patch has him stopped. 

Beast follows, perching himself atop barriers high and above and behind as the intruder seeks to steal a white flower. Anger swells and Beast’s chest rumbles in expectation – his hand will be forced to imprison this other, should he dare covet that which does not belong to him. 

The next few moments go by faster than the processing of any single thought, ending with a castle turret heavier by one. “You should have never come here.” 

“It was only a flower!” 

Beast cackles, sharpening his claws against weathered the iron of his prisoners cell gate, “It was never _just_ a flower.” 

Lumière and Plumette look on from a nearby set of stairs, their false bodies shaken by the events that have happened, here, on this unusual evening. The candelabrum sighs, sensing as though he should go to his Master, but instead turns away. Far, far away. Salvation is not a guest to this tumultuous party.

Though, it’s not long after then that he’s returned to Cogsworth’s side north of the fireplace, not long until a beautiful girl follows in the footsteps of their most recent acquaintance. 

Lumière doesn’t want the flicker of hope that nips at him, knowing it may very well be futile…but what if it really was just a flower? What if he could get his Prince to–“You’re planning something, aren’t you? Well, I can say it’s utterly absurd, and you must already be fully aware of this, I trust?”

Lumière brushes his friend silent with a shove as the girl makes way towards them. Perhaps she might be the one? If nothing else, it’s feasible that _now_ he’d consider a wash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late posting this, but technically I'm still on time! Saturday's are always so damn busy. *grumble* 
> 
> Thanks always always always. x


	5. Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast reminisces on a time before...Belle comes & they have a small chat.

A wooden barn withers on the edge of his grounds, sitting there in a state of perpetual neglect, much like an unwatered plant left to wilt and die. There are no more horses, no trainers nor tiny felines shirking around any particular corner. There is only silence, a creaking, fracturing quiet that reminds the Beast of what once was. 

Seldom does he venture there these days, as the hushed, frozen earth and stale air entombed within does well to haunt him; he remembers the animals and dreams often of the days when had wasted hours by the helm of a mighty steed. 

Back in those days of innocence, being in the stalls felt a lot like freedom – an escape from his father’s torment and the mounting pressures of his political ancestry. As a young boy, Adam had longed to ride day and night; almost nothing compared to windswept hair and the scent of handcrafted fine leather. He used to lie down atop horse and saddle – an Andalusian favorite named Desjardins – and breathe in the warm summer air while slowly drifting away. 

He’d imagine others riding with him some days, so as to not feel so alone and isolated, but mostly he thought of a girl. Not just _any_ girl, mind you, rather a extraordinary one the Prince hoped one day might come along without preamble. A woman not by his father’s choosing or any mandatory requirement but from a place of love. Adam had never shared this secret with anyone for fear of appearing weak or incapable of adhering to policy, and yet.

Beast closes his eyes and forces the memories to pass, regaining balance by placing a hand against a torn and insect-ravaged stall door. He comes to and leans in to grant himself a better view of the abandoned innards: there’s petrified pieces of broken bark and moldy, ashen-gray pipes of straw, all left untouched to fade away beside the march of time. 

He sees rusted horseshoes and feed buckets, turned or kicked over by the once great and adored occupants of these empty enclosures. There are impressions of hoofed feet and bits and reigns and bone-white picks strewn amidst an ancient scene that tells of chaos. Beast had set his beloved Desjardins free – as well as all the others – a week or so after he had been cursed, his heart too broken to look upon his brilliant mount with anything but pure sorrow. 

He had become a creature, an animal, so how would it stand to reason he'd assume control of another? Roaring to Heaven above and Hell below on the night that they galloped out of sight, Beast cried and blamed God and all His Saints for the wicked punishment he was made to suffer. 

But now, now he sees how foolish he had been to accost his creator as the one responsible for the monster he remains still to this day. 

“Are you alright?” 

Beast whirls around to find the girl standing a few paces to his rear. Today she’s adorned in a red cloak, its hood up and over her kept hair; her cheeks are a wintry pink, hands slightly paler than he’d like to see them as. He grins for her out of a newfound habit, “Yes, I suppose I was…tricked into reliving a memory – something from a different life.” 

She moves to stand to his right, lifting her body up onto the tips of its toes to peer over a crumbling façade. “You must have had beautiful horses boarded here, yes?” 

He turns to her, studying the grace with which she’s holding herself – Belle is not touching the dilapidated barn but rather has angled _just so_ to allow for an appropriate viewing space. Her hand floats up by her side, by his, and he’s charmed by the simplicity of this woman yet again. 

“Did they…die? From the curse, I mean.” A wash of melancholy masks her face, and shadows cut fine, somber lines there. It pulls at his heart – he doesn’t want to relive that night, least of all twice within the span of a few moments’ time. But for her, “No, I…I set them free a week or so afterwards. Couldn’t bare–didn’t think it’d be within the structures of nature’s hierarchy for _me_ to keep a pet.” 

“Oh.” The hand that had been hovering by his elbow finally lands upon it, her grip light but true. “I’m sorry.” 

Belle wants to tell him of how he is not equivalent to that of a household pet, but she’s spent enough evenings in his presence to know it’d fall on deaf ears. 

“Desjardins was my stallion. An Andalusian. Desj’s coat looked as though he were made of pure gold when the sunlight shone upon him…it was stunning to see everyday. He was gentle, kind, unassuming. Not like me at all.” Beast chuffs at that last part and then looks down at his arm – her hand is still there. “Do you ever wonder what became of him?” 

His crystalline eyes follow up an arm length and end on her face, “All the time. I tried to catch his scent after a few days had passed but I was never able to discover anything. You’d have loved him, I know it.” 

Belle smiles appreciatively, tilts her head and looks away. “Do you want me to leave you alone to your thoughts?” 

Beast dismisses the offer almost fervently, “No, please. It’s best we set off anyway. My mood doesn’t exactly tend to improve in places like these.” 

“To the library then?” Belle’s face perks up, light already beginning to fill in the gaps where darkness can never fully reach. He nods, and they slowly begin to walk towards the castle’s rear alley. 

A silence impregnates the space between, but it’s one of ease and comfort. It’s there in this quiet that Beast decides to share with Belle the dream from his youth: “When I would ride, I’d imagine a girl coming to rescue me from French Royalty. She’d be a stranger, possibly own a horse, too, if not I’d give her one. We’d talk about the towns, running away to far off cities and–“ Beast stops as he realizes Belle has done the same. 

“What is it?” A slow wave of panic bubbles inside of his belly, vindication that he should have kept that secret to himself always.

“What did this girl look like, in your mind?” 

Beast looks beyond Belle towards the forest’s distant tree line, his bottom lip curling beneath its match. “She looked a lot like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved this prompt. I borrowed a bit from the "As Old As Time" novel, but only so much that he "set his horses free after he was cursed" bit. Also: recommend that for reading if you're a BATB diehard (& you must be because you're reading this! ;)) 
> 
> As always, thank you for all the amazing feedback. I'd be l o s t if it weren't for you all!


	6. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam & Belle talk in the garden, he grapples with her effect on him and how much he's changed since they met. It's then he discovers Belle might be a bit more wicked than he thought...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upping the rating of this fic because of this one. Nothing happens per se, but suggestive enough to warrant an upgrade, as I know future prompts might follow suit. 
> 
> Posting early because I'll be out the majority of the evening!

For the first time in his entire life – each one – Adam feels as if control is not something he has purchase over. The realization comes slowly, not like a flash of lightning illuminating the nighttime sky above. 

No, rather it has presented itself on an afternoon not three days since the curse had been undone. Belle is busying pruning the garden – she doesn’t have to, he tells her, but his girl insists on doing it anyway. Roses are her favorite, she often says, and Belle has never seen so many white and red beauties in all her life. 

“They’re marvelous, aren’t they? The scent in this garden is unlike anything I’ve ever been surrounded with before!” His love’s excitement is palpable, which is another trait Adam has come to adore about her. Little things light her up: The pages of an ancient novel that are yellow and cracked at the touch, smelling of years gone by. Or yesterday afternoon when an impossibly soft caterpillar legged its way along the joints of her fingers. 

Belle sees how wonderful it all is, but what’s caused the Prince to lose any and all measures of restraint is when she looks not at everything else, but at him. Her eyes pierce through to Adam _and_ the Beast simultaneously and never once has he thought to question if this updated version was what she wanted most.

Belle didn’t care for exteriors, the shells or façades – she only ever had need for what lies beneath. 

Adam remembers so clearly every moment spent with her; those chestnut-browns are quick to spill over from the joy of it all and he’s constantly reminded of this as he looks on. 

How could this woman have stumbled into his castle – of _all_ the people in this entire world, it was she who arrived that stormy, somber night. Unafraid and determined, always, to do what was right. Belle was his gift. The Beast’s salvation. 

“Mon amour, are you unwell?” He lifts at the pensive tone and smiles, wiping a stray droplet of saltwater from the lip of his eye. “No, I’m quite the opposite, honestly.” 

Belle drops a set of shears and walks to him, gathering his jawline between a pair of palms, “Why are you crying if you’re alright? What’s happened?” He leans in to the touch and closes away the blue, reveling in her affections for the hundredth time since they came to be as they are now. 

“Why me, Belle? Why did you fall in love with me? I was…hideous, feral. A half-man lost to the throngs of a magical and wicked world. How could _you_ possibly come to–“ Belle takes both knees between his and kisses him, holding his chin first before moving her hands through his thick, light-brown hair. 

She pushes him back and eases down onto his lap sideways, wrapping her arms around his neck as she goes. She feels him vibrate beneath her, his body’s ache shifting into a new territory they’ve yet to explore. Belle desires to, but only when the time is right. Which perhaps could be here, now, in the garden where her future husband first met her father. 

“Oh, you silly man, you were and still are everything I’ve ever wanted. You were only mean because you couldn’t see beyond the horns and fangs. That was you torturing **you** , and it still hurts my heart to think of how many years you existed in that state of self-loathe. We have much to make up for, you and I.” 

Adam holds her waist tighter at that, his forehead resting against her lips in a submissive show of peace. “I never thought I’d see you again that night when Gaston and the villagers attacked. I was prepared to perish, and go willingly into that unknown abyss. And then you called out to me from that window – just up there. I can hear your voice so clearly…I’m almost afraid that scene could be replaying evermore. Perhaps I did die and this is my Heaven.” 

Belle’s mouth trembles at the thought, eyes closing and hands gripping firmer to Adam’s broad shoulders, “Does this feel as though we’re not alive, as if we’re not sharing the same space and time? Or do you need more convincing, my Prince?” 

He chortles at her playfulness despite their weighty chat and loves her all the more for it. “I’ll never say no to you, in any capacity. I only mean to say that every part of our story sings like a fairytale and I cannot help but wonder about its validity. I care not though – if this is Heaven, I long to be no where else.” 

She tugs on the ends of his hair, effectively angling his neck down so as to point his eyes skyward. Belle sighs at the sight of them each and every time, knowing she’ll never tire of his extraordinary trait. They almost always match the sky above or the crystal waters of his now functioning fountains in the courtyard; Belle fancies this practice of comparing things to those blues, though nothing is quite as lovely as his. 

“We are alive, you are here with me…we are starting a new life together and I love you. Gaston nearly took you from me, but _our_ love undid that ghastly aberration of a man. Gaston, I mean. Not you.” 

He smiles and purses his lips, pausing, waiting for Belle to place hers upon them. He cracks his right eye open a slit to see why she’s stalled and there she is, giggling quietly at him, “What? What are you on about?” 

“Every once and again I glimpse how your face, especially these lips and those ceruleans pools of _ahh_ , has always been there, only worn by the Beast. You’re so handsome and I…I felt reticent over the imaginings I held for you then, because I wanted to…to be with you. I mean, the first thing you and I did after the curse was lifted was just that – we shared a kiss. Surely we both ached for such a close moment long before it happened, and yet we held ourselves apart out of…fear, maybe?”

Adam raises a brow and smiles a half, enjoying how candid and honest she forever is with him. “I almost did, on the dance floor. Three and a half nights ago. Belle, you’re the most stunning creature and there I was, _me_ , dancing with you. Holding your hands, holding you. It took every last ounce of willpower and control to stop myself.”

Belle thinks a spell, his words churning up various probable outcomes and what may or may not have happened, had he not restrained his desires. Would she have asked about her father, or even left that night at all? Would he still remain a Beast or perchance she would have admitted to him her feelings and shattered the Enchantresses curse anyway? 

So many questions come to mind, but none of them matter. Her father is free and well, the castle staff has been returned to their human forms and Adam, her Prince, her Beast, is warm and here and hers. 

“Will you stop yourself now, if I ask you for more than just a kiss?” She’s tempting the man sat underneath with wicked words, daring him to forgo his semi-collected composure. Adam squirms, swallowing a trapped gulp of air before turning her in his lap. 

The girl’s skirt gathers in a hearty mess as her legs part at his center; he shifts her closer, all humor falling away from their faces. “I told you, I’ll never refuse you. I only suggest that you don’t ask me to break my vows before our wedding night. I will, you know I will, but…please, mon amour.”

She moves on him infinitesimally, and in unison, they suck in a healthy gasp of shared air. Leaning in, Belle crushes her mouth to his, a combination of fresh scents and _him_ driving her wild; the roses in bloom and what she’s always attributed to just Adam, the Beast, are taking over her body with an unexpected fervor. She wants him, can feel he wants her equally but…

“My love, my love…if you do that one more time, I’m relocating us to the West Wing’s quarters.” 

Belle stops and pulls herself from him, smoothing out the back of his hair, “Your ribbon fell to the stone, I’ll retrieve it for you.” She lifts herself up, and straightens the front of her garden smock before he follows, a bit awkwardly given the circumstances. 

Seizing an opportunity, Belle is stood directly in front of Adam and pivots her body in half without bending even the slightest at the knee. It’s no accident and he knows this, opting to see the humor in it versus rekindling a fire that rages on still. 

“And here I thought you were a lover of flowers, fluffy insects…and Beasts only. Who knew the lady of the house could be so dizzyingly sinful.” Belle clasps the silk strip of cloth between two fingers and brings her body north again, pressing all of her rear against his front. “I believe I said earlier that you and I have much to make up for. But…ehm…” 

He spins her around and grins, awaiting what’s to come next, which never arrives. “But, what, darling?” 

Bashful, suddenly shy and shrinking away a bit, Belle’s eyes loop about, focusing anywhere else but on him, “But…when it’s time, will you…teach me?” 

Adam growls at that and grabs her at the base of her neck, serious and set alight by her suggestive request. “I can. But I’d rather us learn together.” 

For the second, or twentieth, time that afternoon, the Prince has abandoned control. In all ways, in all things, this woman, _his_ Belle, has changed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Adelle is quickly stealing my heart of hearts. But I love the Beast's angst. Such the eternal dichotomy when it comes time to write these chapters! 
> 
> Thanks for all the love, love love. x


	7. Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast & Belle are...in bed together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as scandalous as it sounds, trust me. 
> 
> HAPPY BATB BLURAY & DIGITAL HD RELEASE DAY! Hope everyone has purchased their copy, or copies, if you're a loon like me.

“Ughhh.”

Belle smiles as a grumbling, moody Beast rolls onto his spine, burrowing head and horns beneath a duvet to hide from dawn break. It’s not quite daylight but neither is it nighttime and the bright is far too bothersome already. “Oh no you don’t, we have plans today, you and I. Come on then, get up!”

She tugs on the blanket timidly and it barely moves a whole inch, “Is this how you were before the curse? Sleeping in and shirking your Princely duties?” 

Beast rouses and peeks an eye out, pointing its paired brow in question, “You can’t be serious. _This_ is not ‘sleeping in,’ Belle. This is ‘barely just went to bed and now I’ve no intention of waking.’ Surely you appreciate sleep and all its wonder, as most living things do?”

The girl leans above, so unforgivingly near, and a wavy pool of chestnut-brown falls onto his face. It gathers atop his nose, his eyes and converges with parts of his mane – Belle grins at the sudden quiet that seizes him; she's woefully mischievous when she desires, and now appears to be one of those times. “I’ll not be going anywhere until I see those two feet stood on solid ground, mister.” 

The disbelieving daze passes and he groans, mumbling in protest and yet incapable of ceasing a flood of _happy_ that blooms in his belly. “Or…you could join me and we could **actually** sleep– _in_ , as you’ve so eloquently put it.” Belle doesn’t move, nor does she speak, she simply hovers there waiting, considering the offer. 

“Oh for the love of…” Beast grabs the petite woman and lifts her up and over to the vacant side of his grandiose bed. Gently he sets her down with an ease as though she had been feather-light. “There, now you close you eyes, like this see, and that’s really everything that’s required. Your brain and body will do the rest.” 

Belle smirks, ignoring the playful condescension, opting instead to shift onto her side. She’s facing him, he’s remained stretched out on his back; words suddenly vacate the once teasing Beast and he makes to look anywhere but _there_ , at her eyes, face, hands, hair. Her. 

“Perhaps reading in the garden can wait until after breakfast. May I have some blanket then, or shall I go anyway, since you don’t seem too keen to share?” He pulls the covers away and Belle eases inside, using an arm and elbow to punch the lumps out of her pillow once she’s settled. "Thank you, this is invitingly warm under here. It's always so cold from that open-air balcony. Did you ever think to have it repaired?" 

Beast turns and looks beyond the girl by his side. He sees the wilting, damned rose, bits of snow and ice creeping upon the cloche more with each passing day. 

Somehow, he'd forgotten of the curse. Belle had gone so far as to even mention it and yet, their interactions were so distracting, so entertaining, that he had felt…normal. Like a Price, like a human again. 

“No, I–uh, no. I don’t mind the cold.” He stops and closes his eyes, breath coming much too slowly to ease his heart’s thready pulse. “Are you alright?” She asks this while placing a hand on the cusp of his right ribcage. Beast startles and jerks slightly – an unintentional act but it’s happened and she’s already sitting up with worry. 

“What’s wrong? I can leave if this feels too…too different for you?” His eyes turn then, really seeing the woman at his side. “Is this not too different for you? I had…I thought for a second I wasn’t… Anyway, we can rise and start the day now, if you’d prefer?” 

His heart aches for Belle to request that they stay, that they not flee as a result of his utter incapability of seeing beyond a horrid exterior. But Beast knows, somewhere in a place that’s not given room for forgiveness or acceptance, that it is not meant to be. These doubtful words whisper, occupying the most vulnerable of recesses; the voice sounds so alike of the man he had once spoken as and so he believes, sight unseen. 

“But I’m sleepy now. Can’t we rest? That’ll be fine, yes? It was a long night and it is early morning yet.” Beast shuts his eyes, allowing this moment – every part of it – to fully sink in. “Of course we can stay. I…Belle I just don’t know how to…things have been so… Shall we rest and talk more in true morning?” 

She smiles and slides her body ever nearer, resting her head atop a massive fur-covered shoulder. She shifts about, her neck trying to find a place of comfort. “Hmm. I thought I might lay like this – it really is quite freezing – but seems you’re more firm than fluff.” 

There’s a pregnant pause, a charge to the atmosphere until he exhales a long, loud, unbidden laugh. It’s shortly after that she joins him, and they’re on their backs howling into a shared duvet. “I truly hope one day to tell my children of this moment, right here, right now.” 

Beast processes her statement, immediately dampening the unexpected elation by the rise of his scorned, somber attitude. “Do you want children?” 

He poses this to her not truly understanding why or if he even desires the answer. Any child she will bring forth won’t be of his line…for surely all the laws of nature would forbid such a union. And yet despite the whispers and discouraging words, Belle continues to surprise him. 

“I do. Two boys, two girls, a handful of horses, perhaps a goat or five.” The girl moves onto her side again and he watches as those deep eyes leave the present space; a future has stolen her from him and though he knows an end is inevitable, everything feels as if it is happening much too soon. “Oh, and the library. I’d love to teach them to read in those criminally cozy couches of yours.”

_’Did she just…’_

“What was that?” Belle returns from her fanciful mind-holiday and is met with a pair of icy-blues full up with dread and hope. “Your library, it’d be the most wonderful place to teach little ones of this great, big world. We could even travel to see such far off, wondrous places, like the ones mentioned in the novels.” 

Speechless. Beast has forfeit every syllable, word and sentence in the each of the English, French, Spanish and German languages. There is simply nothing he can speak to hold onto this.

“Why do you look at me as though you’re on the verge of wasting last night’s dinner? Have I assumed too much? I thought…goodness me, I thought you… Is this not headed in _that_ direction? I see that we don’t exactly know much about each other yet but… Oh, dear. I’m being incredibly forward. I suppose that’s how I am? It’d be best for me stop lest this embarrassment continue on.” 

Beast shifts onto his right and molds a palm to her angled jaw, “Dear Belle, how could I have ever known you’d speak such hopeful words to me? Words that hint of a future where there is no curse, no end of the line or finality to _this_. Does it concern you that this might not conclude as the vision you’ve just mentioned?” 

Belle covers his hand with hers and pulls both knees in towards her chest; she understands his situation but doesn’t at the same time. “I just want to be here, now. Can we sleep? I’m too afraid of your fears and what they could mean in the days ahead.” 

“Yes, yes we can. I should warn you though, the servants will speak of such a scandalous sight when they come to wake me.” Belle’s eyes close but she shrugs, “Let them. I have a feeling we’re exactly where fate intends us to be in this moment and I’ll not have that misconstrued as anything else.” 

His lips bend into a smile, amazement filtering from one end of his body to the other. And surprise. He’s so completely surprised by how long it’s taken to realize the truth: he’s fallen in love with Belle.

But…perhaps it’s not exclusive to one party only, given her positive, if not slightly uneducated, forecast for them. He makes a mental reminder to ask her to dance later on in the evening. He’s not sure she will say yes, but he’s not certain that she’ll say no either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow movements on the last chapter – I'm starting to think you guys prefer Beast/Belle to Adam/Belle. ;) Honestly, I have no idea what anyone wants to read but I'd love to know. Which DO you prefer? Don't be shy – we're all friends here! 
> 
> As always, thanks for the <3


	8. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle longs to go an adventure to stymie recent nightmares. Adam knows things and they have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Fluffy. This chapter was tough for me, and I ended up putting in an element I don't normally go with all that often. I hope it goes over well! 
> 
> Darker stuff on the horizon (*zing) for upcoming chapters tough, just in case this was too sweet for you!

“I want to go on an adventure with you this afternoon, what do you say?” 

Adam leans his torso to one side, peeking from behind the spine of a medical novel, “Oh, and where might our heading be?” 

Belle twirls a spell, grasping the fine cloth at her thighs to emphasize an obvious euphoria. She’s excited, fanciful and Adam adores this about her. He closes his book, placing it on his lap as he watches his wife fondly; she’s been a touch different these days, yet somehow all the more stunning for it. “Well, I thought we could have an excursion to the south of Spain…perhaps visit the Rock of Gibraltar?” 

Her Prince chuckles and angles forward, pressing the tails of his humerus bones onto each kneecap, “And all this just in one afternoon?” He watches as her face falls, a little bit of the light leaving her; his heart plunges, a twinge of guilt already gnawing at him. He didn’t mean it as anything more than a quip. 

“Oh, I suppose that might take longer than a day on its own, wouldn’t it? Perhaps a picnic in the woods then?” The spring returns to her step and off she goes, back at it – sans spinning. “And which wood might that be? Ours, here? Or somewhere far off that we’d engage the help of Deschamps and Rosalind?” 

Belle smiles as she thinks on their most recent estate guests: a pair of beautiful Andalusian horses; Deschamps, a striking, shimmering ebony, and Rosalind, a brilliant cloud-white. Adam had surprised her one morning a few months ago and every day since they’ve enjoyed a ride together. When he had shared that childhood memory by the once disintegrating and forgotten stables, she couldn’t stop but wonder – was he happy that, ultimately, it had been _she_ who rescued him? 

That thought and more has been causing her to wake at dawn lately, but then she feels he’s weaved into every particle of her being; his hands holding at her belly so tenderly, so unintentionally meaningful, that she could cry. And she does, cry, on some of these nights. The realization of how close she came to losing the love of her life is far too vivid still, despite it being well beyond the one year anniversary. 

When that disastrous evening took place, Adam had been in a different way, but it didn’t ever matter to her. Belle knows that he understands the truth now: she never saw exteriors or felt negatively towards him, not even on the turret staircase outside of her father’s cell. She had been frightened but not afraid. 

How Gaston had nearly snuffed that life out in a rage of jealousy and misplaced affections haunts her. Even more so in recent weeks.

“Belle?” She returns, focuses and smiles, “Sorry, mon amour, caught up in a memory.” 

“Oh, well go on, share with the present company then.” Gracefully twisting away, she walks towards one of the taller windows, sitting onto its ledge with a familiar ease. “You’re happy, yes? That it was me? That I came that night. That I was the girl who had fallen in love with you and broken the spell? But what if I had done it _sooner_?” 

Wasting not a moment, the Prince all but races to her side, “What’s wrong? This isn’t like you, Belle. You’ve never once questioned _us_ , at least not like this.” 

He sits opposite her and grasps one nervous-looking hand. “Tell me what’s got you so out of sorts? Just a few moments ago we were chatting about taking a small adventure and now…?” 

Adam waits, watching his wife as she works through the words – she does that every once again, especially when they converse on their collective pasts. She’s never shy or doubtful though, so this is entirely new territory. 

“Well…I have been waking rather unusally in the early morning. There’s this paralyzing fear, a nightmare I suppose, where you’re not here anymore, that you did in fact, lose your life that night. And it strikes me – I could have prevented everything that happened on that balcony much sooner, if only I’d admitted myself to the truth. Adam, I can’t…it’s too real, even now when I’m awake it stops my heart.”

Belle takes back her limb and uses it to shroud her sorrow, the emotions too raw, too unnervingly present to handle. She is overwhelmed, caught up in a dream that’s never come true. But Adam knows a secret she’s not revealed to him just yet. Something that will undoubtedly repair the fracture in her reality. 

“My love, stop me for any incorrectness, but I have a sneaking suspicion as to the cause of these reoccurring terrors. They’re coming to visit you more often these days because…” Adam slides his body across the painted wood until he’s flush with hers. He tips her chin upwards, and their eyes meet. The other hand spreads itself across her belly, pressing gently. “I don’t know why you thought to keep the news from me, but I’ve been reading about how these types of emotions can someti–“

In a flurry of movement, Belle kisses her husband, crashing painted lips into his – hands rushing to grab and hold tight to any and every part of him. “How…how did you know?” Between breaths, she gasps, moving her body so that she’s more _on_ his lap than off. “I thought it’d be best to wait a few weeks – Mrs. Potts said it could be a bad omen to tell you earlier than that. And what with our last curse, I thought we’ve had a lifetime worth of such magical faffing. Oh, my Adam, have I gone about it all wrong?” 

Her kisses become less urgent, instead they plea for forgiveness versus passion. Belle never meant to hide this from him, and now that he’s somehow figured it all on his own–“But…how did you know?” 

Adam molds his forehead to hers and sighs contentedly, “Darling, you left a novel about childrearing and birth preparations by our bedside table a fortnight ago. I thought perhaps you and I were meant to have a chat on the subject, but then the frequency of your nightmares increased twofold. I thought it’d be smart to do my own research. _Then_ I thought on your recent trips to the bathroom and the nausea that’s been popping up here and there. Everything seemed to fit.” 

She smiles and wraps her arms around his neck, removing the remaining space left open between them. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I’m sure this secret didn’t exactly benefit the health of my sleep, either. I just cannot imagine a world without you…or this tiny one within me, from you.” Belle halts a moment to breathe him in, to allow the relief of his knowing to permeate through every last cell in her body. 

She perks up quickly as a thought comes to mind: “Oh, there’s a midwife expected to join the staff next week, so that’ll be one less thing that’ll need sleuthing.” 

“I know of that, too, my love. Not many goings-on happens here without my being wise to them. As the Lady of the House, I’ve no doubt you know what I mean.” Belle laughs and dips her head, suddenly bashful at the memory of Lumiere and Plumette catching them in the drawing room a few days back. The castle went alive with hushed speak for a day or so, though none of it came from a place of ill-will or humiliation. 

“At the end of the day, this is our estate and we may use it as we see fit. Though the look on their faces will be a point a comedy for many, many years to come…” 

“I only pray our babies won’t hear of their parents salacious indecencies when they’re grown.” 

Husband and wife laugh in unison at the disturbing idea before Adam pauses awkwardly, “There’s more than one…?” 

Belle kisses his cheek and wipes a spot of red away from his blushing skin, “Not right now, I don’t think. But you’re sure to give me more, I’ve expectations of nothing less.” She winks and rises, fixing her dress and hair, “So, about that adventure for today?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7's Beast/Belle seems as though it's been fancied a bit! So expect more of that to come :) 
> 
> Thank you all from the bottom of my BATB-adoring heart.


	9. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the curse Beast must learn to adapt. Or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark, angsty and there's a hint of suicide mentioned. I'll tag it to be on the safe side of things, just wanted to give a heads up as I know it's a very pressing issue that has, and continues to, affect many, many families.

Alone on the balcony, a newly crowned Beast sits naked, his fur absorbing every beam of moonlight that's casting shadows from above. 

He picks at this unfamiliar body, this hideous malformation he's become, and whines much like a dying thing might. It's a wail of sorrow and regret, guilt and shame. The idea for penance has not come to visit yet, for how might he ever repay all the wickedness that’s been done? 

So, he cries the song of the sad ones on and on, despite knowing that the frigid air is swallowing his echoes whole. Only the remaining staff hears him and he knows that they’re sharing a pain that looks close his own. Knows that their lives and futures, even their very existences are now his sole responsibility. But he can’t consider the impact of that on this night. Won’t allow the pressures of what he suspects will be an inevitably heartbreaking end to push down on him. 

For tonight is the initiations, the eve before a most torturous day: when sunlight arises and he can see everything for what it is – when this impossible truth is not just a nightmare but…real. That’s the moment the Enchantresses curse will cut its deepest wound. 

For now, he wants nothing more than to rip at this disfigurement, tear and slash away the mane that adorns his head and neck and throat as if he were a lion of some unknown origin. 

_’I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man. I’m…not a man. I’m…what have I done?’_ He screams these words over and over, his heart hardening with each and every letter that booms down and out of his quarters. It can’t be…he simply cannot imagine living this life. 

It occurs then that perhaps he _doesn’t_ have to continue on this way, or at all. That he could end the suffering here on this balcony and be done with it. For no woman, no being of either natural or supernatural worth would ever love a grotesque half-ling like he. 

“You will not take your own life, Beast.” 

His head snaps towards the voice and sure as the sun rising in the East, he finds that wicked woman standing there. She’s motionless by the marble table, a hand resting near the rose that hovers in space beneath its expertly crafted cloche. The flower has not bloomed, and he doesn’t expect it to for a great many years – another heartache that grips at his selfishness with disbelief. 

“You will **not** take your own life, _Beast_.” 

She repeats herself with a finality that shakes the the castle’s foundation before moving to his crouched, broken form. He’s been reduced to a inky-shadow on the stone floor, his canine legs curled into his middle to stymie air that’s maddeningly cold.

He could certainly find shelter within his home but this seems just – he can’t feel much for the freezing temperatures and his mind is slowly succumbing to the chill as well. His ill thoughts are going the way of the wind by each passing minute and it’s better this way. If only she might go, leave so that the lasting damage can continue on its journey. 

It’s not meant to end this way though, and the Enchantress will see that it doesn’t. 

Placing her palm atop his shoulder, a golden, ethereal light emanates from the tips of her fingers, disappearing beneath his outer coat. “You will not self-sacrifice out of pity or sorrow, not ever. It is forbidden.” He feels the heat from her touch roil and permeate through the layers of his thickened fur lining and he sighs in desperate resignation. He can’t even end the life he has no right in keeping. 

She finishes; the hood of her burlap cloak is pulled up and over her destitute false frame, and it’s after this that she makes to exit. It’s time to leave this place, to see what becomes of it as the years pass by. Or doesn’t, depending on his actions and resolve to do what’s right. Or nothing at all. 

She knows the Prince won’t seek a love to break the curse, knows he will likely languish and rot in his fortress of forgotten beings. And yet, somewhere inside of her, that’s the lesson in all of this: time. He must change, must be more than what his cruel father has wrangled him into. So it is that he will wear the Beast on the outside for as long as the rose remains. 

He doesn’t watch her go, doesn’t see her dissipate into the thin, chilled air. Beast simply doesn’t care – he’s seen what she’s capable of, and need not know the rest. 

He’s been turned and ruled by her magics and suddenly, rationale returns; he rises and goes to the fractured balustrade and peers out. His chest rumbles with fury as he looks onto the estate grounds: they’re ashen and icy-white, everything dying a slow death by an eternal snowfall that’s set to never conclude. Just as he will. 

He howls, a hard and achingly painful measure of sound that once again dies on the wind. He doesn’t stop despite this, doesn’t stop when his throat bleeds raw from the abuse to his vocal cords. On and on he bellows his woe, his agony at what’s happened and the cursed truth of every empty year that’s to come. 

“Sire?” 

He ceases the endless soliloquy by an unwelcome, timid voice; pushing away from the broken stone, Beast sees Chapeau standing there – and he’s a coatrack. A _coatrack_. “Chapeau?” 

“Oui, monsieur.” He assesses the once-man and buries his face in the palm of a hand, “I’m sor––What do you want?” 

“Master, take these, please. It’s far too frigid in here, and we…we are worried for you.” Chapeau holds out an oversized navy-blue banyan and a pair of his late grandfather’s breeches. The old man had been taller than most of the male members in the Prince’s family, thus the clothing might do well enough for the time being. 

“Madame de Garderobe can fashion a more appropriate attire for you when you’re ready…and she as well. She will need to become familiar with her new set of hands.” 

The Beast doesn’t want to understand what that means, not tonight anyway, neither does he desire to wear the robes of a dead man. Although it dawns on him then how quite fitting it could be. “Mmm. You’re dismissed. Don’t come back here, none of you.” 

Chapeau lays the dressings gently across the hope chest at the bottom of his Master’s bed and shifts to exit. It’s an awkward set of movements – his wooden legs are short, and there are too many of them now. It’ll take some getting used to but he believes wholly that it won’t last forever and it’s the only thing getting him on. “If you require anything, Sire, please don’t hesitate. We are all still here for you.” 

The Beast offers a smile, but it’s a dangerous thing, both crooked and untrue, “Leave this room, at once. I’ll not say it again.” 

His servant does as his Master bids and once more, the inhuman man is thrust back to an isolation he hasn’t begun to relish yet. In his room, he looks around, taking in the opulence and grand façades that surround. It means nothing now, and serves only to remind him of what he’s lost. 

Abandoning control to blind rage, he thrashes about, slicing through the paintings of his youthful face, doubly so on his father’s. He extricates golden sconces from the walls and throws them angrily at needlessly large mirrors that adorn several of the walls.

He goes on ceaselessly until he stands before the last remaining rectangle of reflective glass. He stares at himself, really and truly; consuming the sight of this ugly monster, a ferociousness seeps into his bones, filling in every hallowed space that remains. 

It’s all wrong – he’s a thing, a thing so criminally against every law of nature: the mane, the horns, the fangs, the _padded paws_ and a manhood that’s now wholly shrouded with hair. He growls and it’s an emittance that’s entirely animalistic, born from an endless abyss that once was his heart; it’s a new part of him that’ll serve only to create such feral symphonies. 

He considers his next round of destruction and opts to forfeit throwing the wall decor to shatter the last mirror. Instead he allows it to drop at his side as a decision comes to him. Beast drops onto all fours and scratches his blackened claws into the frozen stone, preparing for the lunge. 

There’s no preamble, he simply races ahead, leaps from the ground and slams his horns into the center of the horrid glass. It breaks apart into a million fine pieces and his fur sparkles as each shard catches the flame light of his candelabras. Parts of it break his skin with scrapes and tiny, jagged piercings, while others are large enough to have stabbed his scalp and shoulders outright. 

He pulls at them one at a time, secreting droplets of blood but never looses so much as a whimper, despite the hurt that plagues him. 

Eventually he tires and drifts to sleep, his head banging like a ceremonial drum headed into battle. There is no more to be done, not now, not ever. There is simply this hell and this night, time immemorial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on this style? More like this? Or a nice mix of both? What do you think? x


	10. Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast and Belle and the ballroom dance. Beast is in love but knows it cannot last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early because Friday's, right. 
> 
> Another angsty one, but in the broken-heart kind of way – the way we love our Beast to be more often than not. *makes a sweeping generalization and I'm sorry if I'm way off in your case*

_”It’s foolish, I suppose, for a creature like me to hope that one day he might earn your affection.”_

_”I don’t know.”_

He wants to keep to this moment, this night of nights, to forever remain in this space where he's holding her. Dancing expertly and she, pressed to him unapologetically. Belle keeps his hands safe in hers, or weaves them delicately into a washed and kept mane. All this and more while spinning and twirling around beautifully polished marble – moving as his partner and no one else’s.

The intoxication of having this girl so close is paramount, yet frighteningly unnerving. For on more than one occasion does Beast find himself believing that none of this is happening in real time.

_"You think you could be happy here?"_

His hands wrap around her petite midsection, the span of his palms occupying and covering almost every inch of her abdomen. He's careful not to place them in any untoward areas for fear of shattering such a miracle with a simple mistake.

But then the lights in the room go down, and a twinkling, spectral phenomenon enchants all things surrounding their union. It's as if the universe has opened and offered to cradle them in a wash of magnificent, blinking color. Beast can't help himself – he dips her lithe form until her spine arches, and it's then that he fully submits: a hand holds the rear of her head, its massive fingers intertwining with pools of silky, chestnut waves. And then he lifts her with one arm and spins them around, one revolution after the next. 

Their gaze never breaks apart during this, and it’s the work of hypnotism that goes from blue to brown and back again. Beast knows it – that he wants to give her all he could ever offer in return for absolutely nothing. She is his one great love, and his torment over what _can_ be and what he longs for has unmercifully swept his soul from within. It’s pain and love so deeply intermixed that he’s unsure where she stops and he begins.

That ethereal shared moment felt endless, and yet it lasted barely the span of a half minute. But the memory will never leave him, never abandon his thoughts no matter how many years may pass.

_"Can anybody be happy if they aren't free?"_

After, they slowly move and glide about, their arms wrapped tight to the waist of the other. The dance is coming to a close and his heart beats a hurricane beneath a solid breast bone; the unspoken truth looms ahead of them.

They walk in silence through the grand ballroom’s exit; Beast’s exhale coats the stillness with exhilaration as he comes to stand near her. They’re frozen side by side, overlooking a horizon painted in white and the shadows of the moon. It’s night, and cold, just as it always is, but if Belle felt any part of the chill, she’s not betrayed such in her calm demeanor.

_“My father taught me to dance. I used to step on his toes a lot.”_

Beast smiles warmly at her words, imagining Belle as a little girl, giggling with the man he had once imprisoned in a tower of crumbling, stone walls. It hurts the Prince’s heart to know he had done such a thing to Maurice, the father of the woman he’s fallen madly for. But facts are as they be and much like he dreams of changing himself, he cannot undo the past.

_"You must miss him.”_

_“I do. Very much.”_

_“Would you like to see him?”_

Beast knew the moment Belle held the Enchantresses mirror that this evening would be the very last spent with her. Something in his gut felt it, but despite that, he went ahead and invited her anyway. And see she did – Belle’s papa was in pain, being handled roughly and accused of things he was wholly innocent of.

Beast watches her fervor, paying close attention to the small hands he’s only just held a lifetime ago. They’re grasping at the fine metal of his mystical device as she speaks with worried tones through labored breaths. Even now he yearns to touch them again, to touch her, but all good things must inevitably end. That was simply the way of it when it came to this life.

_”Then you must go to him. No time to waste.”_

Belle tries to return the magical glass after a moment of surprise, but he denies it, requesting that she keep the thing so that she might look back on him one day. He doubts she ever will, for why would a free woman peer back at her monstrous captor?

_“Thank you."_

She looks sickened with worry…and something else he dares not name, for surely it is not that. Could never be _that._

Beast watches on as she races from the West Wing – the forbidden land that she never should have stepped foot within. None of this would have happened. Yet he’s not altogether sorry that it has, in fact, happened. 

And then she’s…flown through his doorway. His brows rise and his chest caves inward, forcing out a lungful of air between two lagging lips. She’s gone. She’s _gone._

Beast feels the distance as it mounts, sensing the emptiness the girl has left behind already. It’s as though she were made of sand, and try as he might, she’s fallen from his grasp one infinitesimal pebble at a time.

He strips free of the navy and gold waistcoat and its matching gilet, the white cravat following shortly thereafter. They were all brand new, fashioned on this night just _for_ this night, with her. 

Dropping them to the floor, he looks over himself; the breeches can stay. And in all likelihood, they very well may be what he dies in. Beast has no reason to hold himself to a higher standard now that all means of love and hope have gone. Soon every servant will be frozen, doomed to remain as they are forever, only worse. 

It’ll be a shadow world, lonely and void of light, of life. Of her. For Belle will never return. Why would she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo was last night's fic too dark? Lots of views (I love you!) but not a lot of chatter about it. I'd genuinely love to know your thoughts on these as they come, and will do my best to give everyone the same! Fanfic community is pretty awesome and I'd not trade it for anything. And I'll shush now and stop sounding like an impossibly needy fanfic author. You are all the best and the bottom of my heart thanks you far more than typing ever could. 
> 
> Lastly: we're 10 days into this challenge! Only ...20 more to go. We got this. x


	11. Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU! Adam & Belle grow up together...but he changes as the years go by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little different. Sorry for the late post! Saturday's are always so dreadfully busy.

They were thick as thieves, closer than siblings really – a friendship resultant from unexpected circumstances. Each of them, a boy and a girl, nurtured adventurous hearts, their souls full up on wanderlust and a longing for _more._

More beyond the hallowed palace halls and fearsome turrets that guarded them – onward past the edge of the forest, going farther than town or the rolling hills that surrounded. They often spoke of running away, of borrowing their favorite lame horse to see how far they could go before being turned back by the armored protectants of his royal line. 

She’s not like him, the girl, not by blood or social status. Belle is property – part of the staff; a servant’s daughter living in the castle alongside the pretigious family of three. It took many years before she understood her place in this pristine fortress and yet neither of them ever seemed to pay any mind to such trivial differences. 

Adam, the boy, would visit her using false pathways behind opulent straightaways that stretched endlessly from one end to the next. He’d sneak into her family’s quarters after nightfall and cunningly snatch his friend away; their adventures typically finding them wrist-deep into the main kitchen’s desserts. Sometimes though, in summer, they’d push the legal boundaries that were meant to keep them apart. 

They’d stroll in tandem, shoulders touching, through the dense forests as he honed his skills in archery and gaming. He’d teach her, too, which was wholly forbidden, and yet neither ever made it into anything other than past times spent together. They enjoyed the solace from hustle and bustle of everyday castle life, favoring one another more than any other occupant. 

But the servant girl was not someone Adam was _supposed_ to know, nor befriend. She was not his equal and his father would scorn the girl whenever a path inadvertently crossed between the two. It was a visceral, feral reaction to a person of lesser stature than he, oftentimes causing weeks to pass before the two were joined once again. 

Adam hated that cruel man for this reason above all others; the Prince could take the punishments and see himself through whippings, bruises and scars, but Belle, Belle was his one, true person. His confidant and the safe place he could hide whenever a future’s worth of responsibilities weighed him down.

He knew he would have drowned if it had not been for her, but as they grew in age, his father had grown in hate. As the Prince was not the Master of the castle yet, there was to be no control or order over what could or could not be done. Both legally as well as ethically. 

The youthful boy was torn apart by what he knew was right and what his father demanded of him. Pushing so eagerly for a once and future Prince who was to be feared by any and all who knew his name. 

After Adam’s mother died, things descended quicker than ever: the heir was hidden from Belle, and most of the staff, for nearly half of every day, his time structured between studies, fencing practice or battle-intensive trainings. There left little to no room for midnight fairytales or the companionship of a girl. Least of all a girl not worthy of his grace and mercy, let alone his time or affection.

He was a young man by then, fifteen and already hardening into a representative of his father’s bidding. Belle watched the evolution from afar, missing her friend and the adventures they’d take, quietly longing for simpler days. 

By the time he celebrated his sixteenth birthday, which comprised of a five-day gala and a barrage of guests from locations spanning across France, Belle hadn’t shared a word with him in close to a year. 

It was merely impossible to get close to him, no matter how hard she tried those first few months. Eventually, as custom dictated, she was sworn into servitude. Beginning her role as both an overseer to the library as well as general food service, Belle’s heading in life was now solidified. 

A share of these duties found Belle more than happy to undertake; part of her even believed that Adam was the inspiration behind this position in the library. She’d never know unless he said so, and since he never said anything to her at all these days, she accepted her role and did the best she could.

By their seventeenth year, Adam’s father had slowly begun to wither under an illness no one could name. Belle had brought him rations right up until the night he passed; Adam had been there in the room, but nary he said a single word to the girl sat opposite him. Had not even spared a glance in her direction.

Belle understood there in that death-scented room that she no longer existed to the Prince – she was just…a servant and nothing more. A means to an end.

It broke her heart, watching as their past floated away and fled on the tides of judgement and hate – to watch _her_ Adam turned into something she knew he was not. She _knew_ he was good, had felt the kindness and gentleness of that soul on many occasions. Recalled so vividly an intellectual, adventurous boy who would hold her hand in fields of yellow and green as they ran until their legs ached. 

_This_ was not that Adam.

It pained her to see him turned into a flouncing libertine – a cruel man who cared not for the welfare of his people but for the welfare of his wealth. His celebrations were extravagant, with high societies adorned in devilishly tempting costumes and painted faces meant to evoke fear and fright. 

He was a stranger and she, a forgotten bystander to a royal’s fury and the preoccupation of social classes, was left to bare witness. 

Until she didn’t. 

Belle decided on a cold winter’s eve to try, one final time, to help her friend. By her courage, perhaps he might see how far he’s fallen from the days when there were no separations, no better-than’s. 

She stood outside of the West Wing’s grandiose entranceway, his quarters sounding empty and still. Belle knew he was in there, for she had watched him closely that night, tracking his movements to ensure he’d be alone when it came time. 

Warring over whether or not to knock – either were wholly inappropriate given who she seemingly was to him – Belle seized, frozen by indecision. 

The door eventually opened in midmorning and Adam stood on the other side, staring at Belle without a hint of emotion. 

“We were once friends, you and I. Don’t you remember? We’d ride the hobbled steed as far as we were able to, which was typically to the edge of the grounds. O-or taste every sweet Cuisiner would try to hide. Except for the one or two left out purposely, because he knew we’d come. Adam, my Prince, my fri–“ 

“Is there something you need? Otherwise I suggest you return from whence you came, lest you see yourself without a contract here.” 

Belle’s bottom lip quivered and for an instant, she thought she saw Adam’s eyes flounder. His words were a cutting betrayal, a rejection unlike anything she’d ever thought him capable of. 

“No, _Master._ Goodnight.” 

She lets go of him as her hand slips from the golden knob on the opposite door. She’d never forget this night or how he had made her feel less than a person. Lesser than even his father had. 

He was a monster, a beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would LOVE to know your thoughts on this – I have a secret about this chapter but won't spill just yet. But I have to ask: more like this? 
> 
> Thanks for all the amazing, kind, generous words, etc. It makes it all worth it. x


	12. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast and Belle chat in the rose garden, finding they share a surprising, if not concerning, similarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this one was a STRUGGLE. Weekend wiped my brain!

“Tell me about them. I’d like to know, if you wouldn’t mind?” 

Belle pushes a shoulder into Beast, brushing against the embroidered fabric of his long coat. They’ve been chatting at length in the rose garden and though the evening was encroaching, neither made any effort to return to the castle. 

“Why so fascinated? Aren’t they much like anyone else’s?” He asks this before rising, a tell-tale move hinting at obvious discomfort. 

Belle smiles and spreads her arms outwards, palms flat atop a frozen stone bench on either side of her hips. “I suppose, but you’re not like everyone else. This castle is unlike anything I’ve ever read or seen in my entire little life. Unique is a _good_ thing, remember. But…I won’t provoke the bear if he doesn’t prefer to be poked.” 

Beast’s head bobs a few times before he faces her, “Did you just call me a bear?” 

Her eyes grow impossibly wide with worry and then he laughs, tossing out a hand gesture meant to show that he’s jesting. “I’m a lot of things, but a bear? Not sure that one describes all…this.” 

Belle smiles at his witty repose; he’s not always so quick to see a joke for what it is, even if she neglected to realize that she’d made one. “ _Any_ way, will you ever share with me? We’ve read enough of _Oneirocritica (The Interpretation of Dreams)_ to feel it’s rightly time we divulged our opinions on the matter. But first, I’m curious to know if you do have any and if so, what are they of?” 

Beast tilts his head back and exhales a long winded sigh. His breath is sky-white and heavy, rising slowly away from his lips, “You’re an incorrigible sort, aren’t you?”

Belle beams, nods her head and rises to stand before him, “Surprise! Now, give it up, Mister. What _does_ a Prince dream about as he wiles the nighttime hours away?”

He turns his back to her and moves slowly – there’s a slight limp still that mars his movements; sometimes he worries how he’d get on if another attack happened right here and now. Wonders what he would have to do to ensure Belle’s safety – what he’d give to keep her out of harm’s way. 

“I’m not…no, yes, I mean. I do dream. And they’re…I don’t really enjoy them, honestly. But it’s not as if they’re dissimilar to the usual kinds, I suppose? What do _you_ dream of?” 

His nerves are starting to flounder, despite the ease with which such a conversation would typically welcome. But nothing in his life is normal or simple, and though he respects that she’s new to this, he’s curious as to why Belle’s pushing as hard as she is. 

“I dream of far off lands and cities I’ve never been to – like Paris or Morocco. Places where my feet sink into beaches of white and water the color of…well, your eyes. There are other nights where ghosts and faceless persons come to visit me as well – I always suspect one of them is my mother but I’ve not ever gleaned enough detail to be sure.” 

He’s startled by her generous diatribe, eyes alight and mind wholly attuned to the space they’re occupying. “Do you ever hear her voice? Or their voices? Or rather, do they ever speak to you?” 

Belle walks a small circle, trying to digest his intrigue – of everything she believed he may have asked about, that was not anywhere on the list. “A few times, yes. It’s more mumbled than direct though, and whenever I attempt to get closer or touch the apparition’s gift, she dissipates and I wake in a fervor. I don’t like those ones. They’re too–“

“Real?” 

Beast finishes her sentence and proceeds to tug on the underside of his mane, thinking quietly to himself. “Is there ever a golden light on or near to her?” 

Belle’s pacing halts as she comes to stand directly in front of him, “Sometimes. That’s part of why I cannot see her face. It’s too bright – as if the sun is shining _through_ her very body. It’s…disconcerting to say the least. …Why do you ask this?” 

He takes a step closer before walking beyond where she’s set herself; resting by the colonnade’s entrance, Beast lays a hand against the aged structure, lost to a haunting that knows already of these secrets.

“When I dream, which is infrequent as of late, I, too, see a faceless woman. She’s this illuminating being…a guiding source that calls to me, begs me. It’s…difficult to explain. I just…I dream as I was, not as I am now, and she’s there. Offering a chance to do the right thing. I…I never do, I want to–but I never do.” 

Belle reaches out to him, but Beast moves away – sensing the impending comfort, he wordlessly refuses it. It’s clear he aims to sever the emotional connection before it has the chance to properly form. “And you think the woman of my dreams is this same person? Why? Why would she appear to _me?_ ” 

Beast turns and emits a sad sort of noise, one that speaks of confusion, regret and guilt. “What else do you see? Have you had any evenings in this castle where she’s come to you?” 

Feeling the cold permeate from the ground beneath her booted shoes, she’s sucks in a gulp of air and rubs at her arms, “Every night since I’ve been here, actually. She’s holding a crown, her arm outstretched as though she’s offering it to me. My fingers get close enough to it before…well, like I said, I wake without time enough to see what’s to happen.” 

“A crown?” Beast’s brow pulls inward, his eyes casting down in a contemplative manner, “I’ve never seen that before in mine.” 

Belle laughs a nervous sound, licking her lips while shuffling her chilled feet, “I like how you’re more concerned with the details of these coincidental phenomena versus the fact that we’re essentially _sharing the same dream._ ” 

He shakes his head and goes to her, “You’re freezing, let’s get you inside and warm by the fire.” Removing his thick coat, he wraps it around her neck and shoulders, careful not to lay his hands upon any skin. Beast is unsure how she will process such things, and after this conversation, he knows better than to test the situation. 

“Thank you.” She reaches around and firmly grips the coat, her fingers digging into the fabric’s posh patterns and designs. They walk in silence and it drags at her heels; it’s a heavy garment, one made with the intentions of tall man in mind. 

“Do you think she is the Enchantress who cursed you all those years ago?” He doesn’t respond for many minutes, so many that Belle angles to the side, confirming whether or not he’s even heard her. 

“I do. Belle, I’m starting to suspect that your being here is more than just happenstance.” It’s Belle’s turn to slip into an untimely silence, her hands shivering and shoulders wrecked by the wintry weather. 

“Maybe tonight I’ll really and truly try take the crown. If you believe she’s here to serve a purpose, and that purpose includes me somehow, then I’ll do what I can.” He smiles behind her, a warmth spreading throughout that’s hotter than anything he’s felt in the last eleven years. 

“You don’t have to. I could be wrong – everything could be-“ She spins around and grasps his hand, pulling it to her abruptly, “Doubtful…look at what I’ve been holding the entire trek back to the castle and its fireplace…” 

He gets close, leaning down to gazing at her throat – the ornate stitching of his long coat is worn and threadbare and yet there it was: a crown, golden like the sun, held between two of Belle’s petite fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I wanted something fate-ish but felt that I shat all over my original idea and it was far too late to go back and redo it! Sorry – promise it'll be the last not-great prompt fill. Didn't leave myself enough time, but I blame the weekend. 
> 
> As forever and always, THANK YOU all for every comment, kudo and more – it feeds my soul day in and day out. x


	13. Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast & Belle share dinner & play a game of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early posting, because #work. *cries*

The last time Belle was in the great dining hall was when Mrs. Potts had invited her for a late supper. Of course she didn’t enjoy a single morsel that night on account of Lumiere’s spectacular light and sound show, but nevertheless, it was an experience she wouldn’t soon forget. 

This evening however, the girl was sharing her first meal opposite Beast and to say it was an unfamiliar event did not do it proper justice. He was quiet, staring about the room with an unpointed gaze that did its best to avoid hers. 

It wasn’t a long pause before he…garbled the soup as though it were being eaten from a trough. Despite the mess and uncouthness of it all, Belle sees it for what it is: using utensils must have been an uncoordinated, frustrating feat for him, and so he adapted as one would. She smiles after, watching as he cleans his tomato-stained lips with a few licks and swipes from his tongue, and Belle is _happy_ to be here. To witness an intimate act; she doesn’t judge or condemn the forgone table manners – after all it _is_ his castle – but rather revels in what he’s showing her. 

Beast is sharing his table, staff and food with her, when nary was there a promise or inclination to do anything of the sort. Belle thinks on his anger and the proclamation that she’d starve if she opted to not eat with him, but that memory feels like it belongs to…someone else. That wasn’t him, least not who’s she come to know over these past few weeks. Certainly was not the one currently lapping at a porcelain base to clean it in its entirety. 

“’Tis quite tasty, don’t you think?” She sips at the spoon laid on the edge of her mouth and raises her brows a spell, the simple rhetoric fading once again into easy silence. 

“Wait until you see the dessert spread they create for you and I…incomparable. As a child, I’d often steal away at night just to have a nip at the next day’s sweets – my mother would scoff and pat my head passively, but Cuisiner never thought it funny enough for a laugh. Which in turn made the scene all the more hilarious.” 

Belle wipes her chin and hands with a napkin, taking to this moment, enjoying this new side of him. “And pray tell then, what’s your go-to whenever the sweet tooth comes calling?” 

Beast uses a wetted towel to wash his own face and lower mane, scrubbing and pulling, which changes half of it into a fluffy-looking pillow of brown fur. She looks away, feeling heat rise to contour the angles of her cheeks; it’s…cute, this scene, him, but she doesn’t want any sinister misinterpretations to occur, so she turns back to him. 

“Chocolate almond conceits. I could eat about an hundred of those devilishly-good snacks in one sitting. In fact, I’m fairly certain that I _have_ at some point done just that.” 

Belle laughs and sits back, unable to stop the a drawn-out exhale as she imagines him fussing over his favorite treats. “Do you think they have any made for tonight? I’ve never had one!” 

Beast’s eyes flash wide and she’s consumed with blue – blue like the sky, or the ocean, blue like sapphires and precious things. It’s stunning and steals the glee right from her then an there, replacing it with an unnameable word she’s fraught to define. 

“You’ve _what?_ Never? As in…not even once?” Belle shakes her head and rises, grabbing her plate and making way towards the kitchen, “Wait, Belle. You don’t have to do that.” 

The girl shrugs a shoulder, simultaneously looking over it, “I know, I’ll be back in a moment.” 

He sits, thinking he should follow and see to that strange reaction just a second ago and now this; surely Belle knows his servants will tend to their dirtied dishes? But he remains, lost to thought and opinion while absentmindedly stirring an empty bowl. 

“Lumiere! Do you have any chocolate almond conceits on tonight's sweets menu? I’ve never had one and I’m keen to try but also…I think I’d like to, ehm…well…” 

The candelabra grins and pushes a grumbling Cogsworth to move from his pathway. He doesn’t answer Belle, instead requests a special plateful of his Master’s favorite. He knew exactly what Belle was up to when coming here, and he’s not shy to call her on it, “You want to surprise him, don’t you?” 

She nods, bouncing a heel in the most bashful of ways. Peering around eagerly, she finds a stool and sets up on it, “He seemed so enthralled when mentioning them and then he did this,-“ Belle repeats the mesmerizing eye-flash, “when I told him I’d never had one. It was…funny. Endearing, really.” 

Plumette sighs affectionately into one of her feathers and then flitters away, careful not to betray the trust between the staff and her Master. “They’ll be ready in a moment, ma chérie. How was dinner?” 

They chat for a few minutes and then a serving tray full of chocolatey-brown almond shaped desserts is brought out to her. “Here you are, shall we serve them or would you care to do the honors?” 

Smirking, she accepts the dish and hides it behind her, careful not to tip or tilt it as she begins the short trek back. She exits and makes way to the great hall but then suddenly he’s there, walking in her direction. “I thought you’d gotten lost. Came to check and see if you were alright.” 

“Oh, goodness, you. Well, yes, I’m alright, not lost – not this time anyway. But now you’ve sort of spoiled the fun.” Belle holds onto the large plate resting against the curve of her spine, but pauses to take in his reaction: It’s of a curious sort but overwhelmingly welcoming. Beast walks a few paces towards her and leans his body from left to right, trying to afford himself a better view of what she’s hiding. 

“Playing games, are we?” 

She nods and bites her bottom lip, leveraging height by going up and then down again on the tips of her toes, “Give up yet?” 

Beast moves closer to her then, lowering his view; running a finger across the top of one of his horns, he whispers resolutely, “Never.” 

At the same time, he’s angled his entire body into hers, and gazes over a single shoulder, “Conceits!” 

He reaches around and scoops up the tray, bringing it out so that it’s the only thing between them. “You first.” Belle looks up at and finds a lopsided smile awaiting a hopefully impeccable food review, for how might she disappoint _that_ face? “Go on. Or soon you’ll find that dish to be bare and void of any such deliciousness.” 

Finally she takes one of the sugar sweets and pops it into her mouth, “No, no, don’t chew it just yet. Let it melt a bit first, then have at it.” 

One of her cheeks pops in the shape of an almond as a giggle overtakes her and she’d forced to cover her mouth to stave off any residual mess. But she does as he says, waiting before sinking her teeth into it. Then, “Mmm, that is absolutely sublime! Tastes like fudge and butter and…rich. I think…I mean, I don’t really know for sure…” 

“And now the rest are for me, woman. One will do you just fine, no?” Beast turns away and trots a length with the platter, but she’s quick to catch up, “Oh, you will most certainly not. Share! Or I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Potts to chill your tea for a few days.” 

Nodding, he concedes to the threat, knowing she’d follow through with it despite his joking. “How about we take this to the library and start in on a new novel? I remember you said you’d never read all of Shakespeare, let us rectify that.” 

“I think that sounds absolutely delightful. But only if you let me handle the sweets…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was near impossible to bring any angst into, but if anyone has done just that, show me the fic, please! Because all the kudos – and because I'm dreadfully curious, haha. Anyway, it's fluffy and fun. Another little moment between moments. 
> 
> Also, found the "Chocolate Almond Conceits" here: http://twonerdyhistorygirls.blogspot.com/2012/05/conceits-comfits-creams-more-on-18th.html // They sound pretty delicious, don't they? x


	14. Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle goes exploring, Adam catches her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly fluffy, but not completely. A mix of fluff/non-fluff, perhaps?

She’s not meant to be tidying up, not really, but old habits are hard to break. Back in Villeneuve, in the little cottage she once shared with her father, Belle was responsible for half of the cleaning, cooking, and all of the laundry. It was there she would tinker and invent solutions to everyday chores in the hope of lessening a daily burden; effectively these devices would allow her the free time to read or wildly daydream of an adventurous lifestyle. A life waiting for her just beyond the edge of town. 

But here in this expansive castle, she’s responsible for…well, she’s not certain what her duties are as of yet. She loves her Prince, her husband, but she’ll not sit idle or pretty as he runs court or signs off on all the new taxation laws, and more.

So she’s taken to cleaning some of the smaller quarters, one at a time, slowly emptying the forgotten clutter and moth-eaten wearables. The dressings are of a different era in her love’s history – a time she was never a part of. Belle isn’t sad over this, rather she understands that who he was then is not the man she’s fallen for today. 

Spotting a leather-studded chest in the rear of the room, she tosses heavy petticoats onto an already-enormous pile and sets off. Belle doesn’t feel remorse or wrong over any of her actions to come, as he’d have never abandoned something of import in the first place. After all, he was once a spoiled Prince and possessions had been everything to him then. 

And yet the intrigue mounts the nearer she gets to the object in question. Eventually she’s arrived, wholly unable to resist studying the thing: it’s a large, misshapen box – wider on the with an angled, narrow descent towards its bottom. It looks far older than either she or Adam, and it… _smells_. It’s a musty, heavy scent – as though it’s belonged to his family, or others, for a few generations by now. 

Dropping to her knees, Belle follows an ornate golden inlay with the pads of her fingers. She sweeps clumps of oily dust and an occasional rodent hair off of it; that one might have gagged her had she not come from next to nothing herself. In the poorer classes, rats and mice were a common sight, a nuisance and nothing more. 

She finishes her journey of touch and stops – there’s a negative space where the dirt has been disturbed, as though someone had recently accessed _this_ particular trunk. 

Belle breathes in a hurricane of air and then blows it out, forcing the remaining top-filth to be one with the wind. Ignoring the new negative space, she grasps the latch, tugging the rusted iron up once, twice. It finally submits, earning her a creaking, whining symphony of sound. Whatever it may be hiding, it’s been doing so for a long long time. With the exception of an unknown guest, to which she’s beyond curious about. 

Just as she’s primed to raise the antiquated lid, she falters, placing her palms flush against the cracked leather. _’Is it my business – am I even privy to its contents? Do I have a right to see? Oh, goodness, me. I’ll not sleep tonight if I don’t, I know it.’_ Belle chastises herself but eventually surrenders to temptation. 

Lifting the large dome upwards, she grunts; putting all of her force into it, she pushes until gravity does the rest. The heavy lid falls back, nearly yanking the lower half along with it. Belle ceases its momentum by putting her bottom right onto the lip and sitting down. “Oh, no you don’t…” the girl mumbles, before lapsing into silence at the items revealed to her. 

On top is an expertly crocheted blanket that an infant might be gifted – its woven blue and gold thread visibly lax from time and repeated use. She pulls it up as she lifts it out, gently poking the tips of her fingers through a few of its over-stretched gaps; it’s soft but brittle at the edges, made from a string far too rich than anything she owned as a youngling. 

Folding this piece of someone else’s life, she lays it onto her lap, dazedly brushing her hands over it again and again. Belle isn’t certain why this receiver deserved to be entombed forever here in this locker, but the next find speaks of its potential owner. 

A blue banyan that’s been torn to shreds lays there, its color faded to a dull midnight. Its wrapped into itself, but she knows precisely what it is: It was the Beast’s shroud, the one Belle thought he had destroyed sometime last year. The one _he had told he destroyed sometime last year._

She gathers it up in her arms, not minding the acrid scent that emanates from it – for this was who her husband was when she met him. He was foul and unpleasant, cruel to the nameless, faceless denizens he cared naught for. And yet, this slashed, tattered garment has managed to stand the test of time. 

Belle isn’t mad so much as she is inquisitive: _’Why would he keep this? Why here, beneath what I can only presume is his baby comforter?’_

“Ma femme.” Her head snaps around from just outside the chest, fingers reacting by clutching the cursed clothing close to her heart. Adam suddenly sees tiny flecks of gray dust shoot skyward all around her; he’s quiet, mesmerized as a reflection of the moonlight masks her in an otherworldly, saintly glow. “Mon Prince, I didn’t hear you come in…” 

Adam gazes around the room, but has known for a while what she’s discovered. “Ahh, so it seems I’ve been found out.” 

“You kept this, versus setting it to fire and flame? Why, Adam?” She’s sat on her knees, feet resting against her rear, making no move to rise and greet him as she typically does. 

He joins her on the floor, touching a hand to her cheek before laying it atop the threadbare, ripped cloak, “It’s a reminder. Of who I was, of what I never want to be again. Not just the Beastly façade, but what it felt like on the inside…it also reminds me of the night I stopped those wolves from stealing you away. I know you hate this–this _thing_ and I’m sorry I lied to you, but it’s…I–“ 

Belle lays two fingers over his lips and silently shushes him, “I understand, mon amour. It’s part of the link between the you before the Enchantress, and the you now. The clarity is there and I’m ashamed I hadn’t thought of that until you spoke your truth. Though, you did seem to catch me rather quickly…?” 

He grins and kisses the fingers that lay still against his mouth, “I was here the entire time. I saw you hesitate, I could have stopped you, or at least startled you enough to deter the inevitable. But you’ve a right to know everything.”

His wife smiles at that before closing her eyes and letting slip the tension from off her shoulders; “I was worried I was going to find scandalous letters or worse. This is quite tame, all things considered.”

The Prince laughs at that and then raises a brow, “No, those are hidden elsewhere, but it appears as though I’ve said too much already.” 

Belle winks and pushes at his shoulder, “Perhaps that’ll be the next bedroom I loot as a quill keeps you good and busy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART. Shocked by the response, day in and day out, to this series of one-shots. Let me know what you'd like to see more of though – coming close to the halfway mark and though I trust my prompt game, I'm also open for requests here and there :) x


	15. Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU – Belle & Prince Adam Lemaître are illicitly in love. But can there ever be a happy ending?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot to this little fic – sex, not incredibly descriptive but enough written to blush the cheeks, perhaps. Angst, because that's my thing. And...? Read on for more! 
> 
> Posting early so I can read and catch up on all of your amazing fics for the challenge! Been slacking.

The Prince laid on his side, content to remain this way for an entire day, if it were at all possible. It wasn’t the lure of sleep that appealed to him, rather it was the woman wrapped in his arms: Belle, the witty, intelligent handmaiden who had become his illicit love. 

Adam Lemaître, son and heir to a most cruel and unusual man, had never intended for his heart to find a home in the servant girl, and yet, there was no denying that it had, in fact, happened just like that. 

“I must flee soon, _mon Prince_. The sun rises and I cannot be here much longer.” Adam clings to her, tracing a line down the sloping, smooth skin of her shoulder. His hand dips below the duvet and touches a place near to her heart, but his motives aren’t altogether pure. He wants her, as always; not because he shouldn’t be with Belle, as surely it is illegal, but because she is everything his soul has sought and needs. 

“Don’t go, stay a few more minutes, here with me? You recall that I won’t get to see you for a fortnight. Father is sending me to Versailles on ‘Kingly business.’ I know I’ll find myself lonely, missing you all the while.” She stirs at the heartfelt plea, and presses her body onto him, reveling in the closeness this man has brought to both her and her life. 

They’ve been swept into a web of secrecy, a combination of emotional and physical torment, for the better part of two years – and it’s not lost a single millimeter of interest. For either of them. If anything, it’s only grown as the years have gone by. Each knows this is a dangerous game they’re playing, not with their lives per se, but with their hearts. 

So much at stake, so much to lose and yet, Belle and Adam have made the irrational choice to keep the fire luminous and present. “Will there be any courting of far off Princesses this time? You’ve been of age for a few months now. We both know it’s inevitable.” 

Adam lowers himself to kiss at the center of her spine, curling his body around her as he prepares to consume the girl one more time before they are forced to part ways. “You have my heart, _mon amour_ , **you** will always have me.” 

Belle closes her eyes and surrenders to his touch; two strong, calloused hands explore and feel her – a service of give and take that both of them desire but so much more. He whispers in her ear, speaking words of adoration or telling of the salacious acts he never tires of doing to and with her. Lips, tongues, hands, hips – everything goes from two to one with a fluidity that neither have come to fully comprehend. 

He takes her then, and there’s nary a clause in the entire world that could undo what they’ve created. 

It’s only a moment before she cries out with abandon; he stifles the noise by covering her mouth with a hand, smiling at the height of his woman’s ecstasy. Pushing deeper into her, his beauty, the one that his heart belongs to unquestioningly, Adam watches the scene like a predator hunting its prey. 

He stops, pausing, mind grappling once again over what’s right and the injustice of all that’s disallowed. Adam wants so badly to give her everything, wishes so fervently for beginnings, middles and even ends – the kind that comes after spending a lifetime alongside another. 

Mostly, the Prince longs for a different path that neither he nor she have yet to experience. One they could share together versus this shadow world they’ve manifested unto themselves. 

Yet, it’s not to be. _Cannot_ be. So he exits before the loss of control completely consumes, and she shivers as the Prince climaxes, his seed falling fever-hot onto her belly. This is how it’s always been, how their lineage dictates it must be, and though they love one another, such a finite limitation is shattering every single time.

Their union may not bring about new life, there will be no marrying of one world to the other’s, and despite their bliss, the realization lays heavy between them. 

“I love you, ma Belle.” He doesn’t move from where he hovers above, instead leans down to kiss a pair of lips he couldn’t imagine life without. But it’s not just those ruby-reds – it’s her words, her mind, Belle’s refreshing selflessness – she is what he’s needed all along. 

“And I love you, Prince Adam Lemaître, heir to the-” He silences her with his forehead, pressing down on her lightly. Right now, in this room, he doesn’t want to be that nobleman, to be part of a royal line. In his heart he would surrender the crown and each of his titles if it meant he could have her. 

“Adam?” 

“Father seeks to arrange a gathering for me at the Palace. A gala in my honor, or so he says. Bastard just wants an heir to his heir. To ensure the Lemaître line continues on good and strong.” Belle’s eyes loop around, head turning away, “Princesses it is, then.” 

He sighs, rising to rest his weight on top of two naked heels. Using a flat linen sheet, he cleanses her abdomen, removing any trace that he’d ever even been there. Sadness washes over, scarring his heart as he finishes. It’s all so incredibly close and yet so far from what he truly wants. What he knows she desires but will never utter aloud.

“Nothing will change when that happens, you know this to be true, I hope?” She sits and shrouds her body, effectively hiding herself, “Of course it will. It has to.” 

He moves to be beside her, pushing loose waves of chestnut hair away so as to place feather-light kisses upon that alluring flesh. “My love for you will never cease, so why should this? I’ll never harbor affection for any woman I’m forced to wed. Not unless that woman is you.” 

Belle's eyes steel themselves, her bottom lip sinking underneath a row of front teeth; it’s too much, it always is. This is not the first time they’ve been here, in this situation, and until he takes a bride, they’ll never know how things will progress. Or not. 

She suspects the latter, despite her innate sense of optimism. It’s one of the only things her and the Prince differ on, and not something that’ll be quick to vanish. 

“Oh, _mon Prince_ , I’ll be tending to the products of your union to an unnameable spouse. How could I ever _be_ yours beyond that?” 

Adam tilts his head before looking away resolutely, finally coming to glimpse how devastating this will be from Belle’s perspective. He cares not for his own broken heart, but hers––could he ever assume her position if their situations were reversed? He doubts it greatly. And yet, if it meant seeing her still, perhaps he might. 

“Can you love me?” 

Belle’s neck juts back a length as she absorbs the sadness emanating off of him, “Can I love you?” She parry’s his inquiry with her own, unsure as to the direction of this conversation. “Yes, can you love you me despite any future heirs or loveless marriages I may be sequestered into? Am I worth that to you?” 

He tips her chin so that their eyes may meet, and it’s then he notices that hers are drowned with tears. Seeing this, he still must know: “Can you?” 

Belle’s glance falls to the south as her head plummets into a pair of shaking hands, “You’re asking me to love you despite knowing you’ll be sharing a bed each night with another woman by your side. To love you as you sit upon a throne with her there, and children at your heels. Asking me to care for your life and soul from within a hidden alcove – requesting that my heart and body to remain yours and yours alone, when you cannot offer me the same.” 

The Prince covers his mouth and nods, frightened more by this moment than by anything that’s come before or will be after. 

Just then an illuminating line of sunlight catches the ends of her hair and she turns to view the endless horizon. She knows the answer, knows that he does as well. “I must leave, _mon amour_ and you need to ready yourself for the journey ahead.” 

She eases out from his grandiose poster bed and slips away from him, draping a threadbare robe around her bare, lithe form. The service hallways should still be relatively empty at this time but if she waits even a minute longer, they both risk being found out. 

“Belle?” 

She’s standing by the false wall, clutching the worn fabric to her chest; a strong heart beats thunderously there, beneath her bones – those rattled, broken bones. 

“ _Mon_ Adam.” 

Belle smiles and curtsies before disappearing through the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3100+ views? Is this even real life? I'm beside myself with appreciation and affection for every single person that has viewed, read, reviewed, kudo-d, bookmarked, or just glanced at this tiny venture. Seriously, it's magical. Thank you always – feedback is a hurricane for my soul. 
> 
> Also: Lemaître = "The Master." I figured that'd be a good name for someone like Adam, despite his character in this being different than what we've come to know and love. I think I'll keep it though for all future fics, so don't be surprised if you see it pop up again!
> 
> Last: Honest question – should I change the warnings for this one because of the small lovemaking scene? I'm not sure at all what to do! UPDATE: Changed it to Mature. Still, should I go up one more?


	16. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another AU similar to the last chapter: Prince Adam & Belle must not be together, and their hearts pay the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I AM SORRY.  
> Second: I AM SO SORRY. 
> 
> Please don't hate me. I finally listened to Tony Anderson's new album "The Heart of Man," and of course I did so while writing this. So it is sad. BE WARNED. 
> 
> I recommend listening to "Darkest Night" if you are interested as to what my headspace was when writing this.

She was in his arms, but soon she wouldn’t be. The girl, the handmaiden, the servant. Each of these was her but she was none of them. Belle was his and Adam was hers. For a time anyway. An impossibly short stint that cannot end for their tryst hadn’t ever really begun.

_”Don’t go.”_

_“But I must. This is not my place and this is not our night. You’ll have a lot to contend with on the ‘morrow and I, well I would have been be busy working. For you. For your castle.”_

The Prince exhales into her hair – an ocean of chestnut redolent of roses and rain that brings him to his knees. He breathes her in, feels the warmth from her skin brushing against his; as she’s sat on his lap, he can do nothing more but curse the rich blood that flows in his veins.

_“I’ll want you for the rest of my life.”_

_“But you can’t have me, mon Prince. And I cannot have you."_

He watches as she stands, feeling their distance growing already. His heart beats faster and then slows to a deathly pace as an ache births within; this isn’t right, it doesn’t _feel_ good. His soul is suffering, mind prepared to burn every Royal bridge that’s ever been constructed, if only it meant he could keep her here.

_”Belle?”_

_“Yes, mon amour?”_

_“I can’t give you everything–all of the opulence and meaningless rubbish-but allow me to give you what’s inside, **here.** ”_

Adam punches his breastbone with both of his fists as he leans forward, halfway falling out of his seat. He’s pleading, begging for her not to go, not now, not ever. His life will be forfeit, heart burdened by the weight of such an immeasurable loss. If she goes, he’ll have nothing, while owning everything all at once.

Belle walks to her one and only, falling onto both knees in temporary surrender. She cannot flee with him in this state; reaching for Adam, she pulls his hands away from his chest and he doesn’t fight it; white knuckles are pressed to her lips, and she kisses them gently, rubbing the pads of her thumbs into their separating valley’s. The girl stills the fervor and holds fast to his love, wrapping her Prince’s agony and their brokenness into a single breadth of time.

_”I can live a thousand lifetimes with you and I would wish for another thousand still. There will always be a perpetual desire to spend eternity beside one another. We will forever want what should have been ours, you and I. _Mon chéri_ , just know that I will survive the long days because I must. But I will search the nights endlessly for you, hoping against hope that you may come to me in my dreams. Praying I can thieve just a fleeting glimpse, or feel you near to me, even if it’s not of this world. We were born to live apart _and_ as one. There is no solution to our turmoil, no fix that might mend our married souls. Wherever I am, wherever I go, I am yours – _my heart_ needs only to know that you are in this world.”_

What little stoicism Adam had fails, his throat choking by the anguish of this entire situation and all the circumstances that have brought them here. For surely, it can’t be true. No God above or devil below would torture them so ceaselessly. And yet.

Belle rises, silhouetted by a feral flame that climbs just beyond her; she squares both shoulders and inhales slowly, trying to ease the fire that consumes every inch of her. Adam sees his love, truly sees this woman, and knows she’s already gone. Feels her heart steeling itself against the punishment that is certain to visit night after night, for as long as they remain of this earth. 

She tilts her head forward, slips one foot behind the other and lowers her body – it’s a curtsey, a ceremonial farewell. A gasp escapes his wrecked lungs as he rushes from his chair to wrap both arms around her. Adam pulls her into him wholly and completely, refusing to give her up, to give in to what their birthrights claim is unquestionably righteous.

_”Don’t leave, please just…Can’t you…?”_

Her grip is strong but desperate, fingers intertwining with his hair, his arms, his back – anything she can reach she takes. It’s Belle’s turn to breathe Adam in, to create a place for this man, giving his heart a home where no one could ever take it from her.

A lone tear falls from a sky of blue, finding its final rest atop her bottom lip. She licks it across and away before kissing him, knowing this moment is their last. 

“I love you.”  
“I love you, more.” 

Belle pulls from him as salty tears begin to cut lines down her red-tinted cheeks; a vision of an entire lifetime gathers there within her eyes, and he’s breathless at the sight. There will never more of this girl, never more to their story.

Against every screaming echo inside of his head and all the matter he’s made up of, Adam let’s go. She moves, one foot and then another, their eyes keeping focus, remembering this moment and every second that’s come before. 

He's first to look elsewhere, shifting his gaze from the beauty to the fire. She smiles back at him, studying his features so as to commit them to memory: his handsome profile, with a biting jawline that’s battling the same emotions warring inside of her. His hair is lush and full, arms protective and worthy. Hands that are strong, hands that she’s held many times, hands that have held her in the best and worst of times. His bones were built to love hers – and she will not move on, even though she’s moving away.

_“Mon Prince.”_

Belle turns before he reacts and doesn’t see his eyes shut, his chest caving inwards. Doesn’t need to, for his pain lives within her.

____

She will slip away sometime in the night, just before dawn breaks the horizon and no one but he will know it’s happened. Not until the light rises, ruining the illusion he’s already built upon to get him through.

He goes to the library – their library – to check on her station, only to find that it has been reassigned. 

She is not there. 

He searches the servants, walks among them, racing through false hallways in search of one girl – his girl. 

She is not within their hidden walls. 

He visits her quarters and they are abandoned; the few possessions she’s had are, like her, no more a part of his life than he is of hers. 

She’s left nothing behind. 

He sits on the edge of her bed, his body adorned in the country’s finest fabrics – today is his wedding day and he’s moments from stepping into a loveless life. He remains there a while, thinking of how he might have changed things – if he could have changed anything at all. 

Eventually Adam stands, brushes an imagined speck of dust from a thigh and straightens his long coat. Flecks of gold shimmer and fall onto her duvet, catching the waning sunlight as they descend. 

He follows its illuminating path down to the floor, glimpsing a torn piece of parchment jutting out beside a bedpost. He reaches down and retrieves the thing, flipping it over in his hand. It’s dusty and feels worn through, as though its been there for some stretch.

**”Je t'aimerai toujours, Adam.”**

Adam’s lip lifts to one side as he takes in the heavy air from this empty room. He holds the note to his heart for a moment, stilling his hurt with imaginations of where she could be right now. Perhaps she’s high on a hill, laid back whilst reading a novel, on break from her journey. Or perhaps her stallion carries her through fields of green, yellow and red. Green like the uniforms she wore, yellow like the wedding dress he always fantasized her in, and red like her lips. The ones that taught him how to love and be loved in return.

He slips the thick paper into an inner breast pocket and presses at it, knowing he’ll never go a day without its reminder. The Prince exits her room and locks it with a master key, sealing it forever. 

“Mon Prince, it is time.” Cogsworth flashes his ticking clock and then nods in the direction of the great celebration hall. Everyone is there waiting, his bride eager to start their life together. 

Adam follows behind his castle’s head of staff in remorseful silence, clinging to the daydream of a girl who has his heart and fled with it on the wind. 

It’s not long until he’s stood in front of the massive entranceway alone, all servants and staff now inside. He pats the inner sleeve that holds Belle’s love and closes his eyes.

_Je t'aimerai toujours, ma Belle.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for chatting me up, both on here and now on tumblr – I really adore this fandom and cannot get enough of the talks we share! And always always for the love you've shown this...the support is incomparable to someone like me!
> 
> I really hope I don't drive anyone away with this semi-continued AU as the last. They're not directly related but closely enough that either could be interchangeable. It's not lost on me how I've descended into this trope full-on. I promise fluff will be coming, to lighten things up a bit because PHEW. 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts, honestly and truly. I'm sort of a mess over this one, and struggled with the prompt word because I was so wrapped up in "Tears" still!


	17. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Adam fights with his father, which leads him to the library. A servant girl named Belle is there and she's unlike anyone he's ever met before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bit of that semi-ongoing AU ...but it's LIGHTER! No heavy angst! Sorry I'm posting later than normal – day trips with the family leave little time for writing! Apologies on any grammar-related errors – I'll give it a good read through tomorrow sometime, but I'm running so low on energy and wanted to get this out to you all!

It's not an inferno when it begins, least not straight away. There is something there, but the real stuff comes later, when they're inseparable – stealing every moment between sun up and sun down with nary a care in the world. A dangerous foray into uncharted territory, and still, both were powerless to stop. 

When the craving becomes desperate, each so consumed by it that they can no longer glimpse the boundaries, therein lies the crux. It’s when these insipid lines fade into a noiseless oblivion, rendering it all meaningless, wholly uncared for. It’s in such moments like these when the Prince and his Belle transcend.

––––

It started in a place where all the great stories of passion exist as a single entity, waiting to be plucked and loved again. It was Adam’s escape since he was a young boy, afternoons sat on the lap of his doting mother as every hour fell away around them.

The library was under Belle’s charge and had been for quite some time; she, the quiet girl who kept to herself, did her duties and innocently daydreamed days into nights. She lived in the castle alongside the rest of the staff, arriving here as an orphan at the tender young age of five. She never once complained about her lot, opting instead to see the forest through the trees – happily accepting each role as they were confirmed upon her. 

The staff, especially Mrs. Potts, had taken the girl under her care, raising her as though she were their own. And yet, there was chatter amongst these indentured souls that whispered of Belle’s…oddities. She loved reading - was known to lose more a few days’ worth of time between the pages of a novel if it was of the kind that truly gripped her. But there was more, too. 

Belle was perpetually optimistic. No matter the day, week, month or year, she could manifest good in almost every situation. It perturbed a few of the curmudgeonly residents of Castle Lemaître, but most found her endearing. Of course, there were days where those endless wells of positivity were drained or running perilously low, but not once had she willingly succumbed to any judgmental influence. It simply wasn’t something she paid any mind to. 

Prince Adam Lemaître hadn’t known Belle, or any servant really – and he might never, had he not blown through the grand doors on one turmoiled Wednesday night. 

He was deeply disturbed by an argument with his father – a disagreement that Belle had somehow heard even from this far into the estate. She busied herself all the while, just in case their heated discussion spilled into the little, grandiose hideaway that was under her supervision. 

“Feral, horrid, _useless_ man! I don’t want to marry Heiress Jezebel, _daughter of Prince Valentin._ I don’t _want_ to go and court her. Why should I have to leave home on account of that imbecile choosing the likes of she?!” 

Adam droned on and on, cursing the patriarchal system that’s interrupted his life of leisure and–“Mon Prince?” 

Belle’s voice brings him to a full stop; she takes tentative steps towards the new angry, writhing form in the room, before greeting him properly, as a handmaiden must. 

“Oh. You.” The Prince dismisses his attendant at first, not of work but of her being anything more than a piece of furniture. In his moment of fury, he forgoes all the manners of his mother in exchange for the temper of his father. 

“Are you alright, Master? Is there anything I can help you with…?” Belle gestures around the room, a finger pointing towards a nearby cart, where a fresh pot of tea waits to be poured. 

“Who’re you? Why are you still here? The day has ended long ago. Shouldn’t you be in your quarters for the evening?” His words are biting, his gaze even more so. He moves within inches of where she stands and towers over, waiting on an answer to his cruel rhetoric. 

“I find I rather enjoy quiet evenings in this library, Master Adam. While I could return to my room with a book or two, reading here, amongst the greatest minds and lyricists? That’s not work, that’s…joy.” 

He scoffs at Belle’s answer before allowing it to settle inside, “Who’re you? I’ll not ask again.” 

She grins a half and moves to prepare a cup of chamomile tea, “Oh, I’m Belle. Pleased to finally speak with you, Sire.” 

He slips into the ease of silence, taking time to study her petite, lithe body, head adorned with messy, chestnut waves that fall onto covered breasts. Her uniform is wrinkled, the toes of her shoes are scuffed and he’s fairly certain she shouldn’t be speaking to him outright. No, he knows with absolute conviction she shouldn’t. She’s neither an aide or a head of anything noteworthy and so her brazen, irresponsible attitude should cost her. 

Adam turns to reprimand the confused girl, a threat on the horizon, primed and ready to be reigned down onto her. But she’s holding out a saucer and small teacup for him. “I’ve added an extra lump of sugar for you. I’ve heard amongst the kitchen folk that you like that. Do you have a favorite novel? Perhaps you–“ 

Adam stops her by holding a hand high, its palm outstretched and fingers spread, “Just…who do you think you’re addressing, _Belle_?” 

“Mon Prince Adam Lemaître, of course. I’m sorry, shall I go and leave you to your anger?” 

Adam’s eyes peer around the room, bouncing from side to side by the incredulity that’s bordering on unreality. _’Is she really…did she only just…?’_

“I can’t imagine what it’d be like, forced to marry someone I didn’t love, or know at all. I feel true sorrow for you. Perhaps a respite might provide temporary relief?” 

He exhales and laughs – actually laughs at that – and wonders if she’s not bewitched under some form of sorcery. For why else would she address him so…disrespectfully. 

“I was reading Romeo and Juliet right before you stormed in. Have you read that one? It’s my absolute favorite!” Adam couldn’t remember when it happened, but at some point he had taken the tea _and_ already sipped from it. It was warm and sweet…exactly as he preferred it. 

“Ugh, that one is utter rubbish. All that heartache and pining, bleh. I’d rather something with more gusto, adventure and…well, better.” Belle mock-gasps at his dismissive admittance and then seats herself – before he – on the center room lounge.

“Well go on then, name a better _romance_ that both men and women can agree on. Men being you and women being me, naturally.” 

Adam sits beside her and thinks a spell; stirring the tea, his mind flitters between his most beloved books and what exactly is happening right now in this room. “You’re the girl I hear about, aren’t you? The one who doesn’t follow protocol…as evidenced by everything taking place right since I’ve walked through the entrance.” 

Belle exhales an exaggerated, resigned sigh before spinning her eyes, “Yes, yes. The odd girl, the outcast. That’s me. Is it wrong to want life both simply and adventurously? Or to have a conversation with another human being without pomp and circumstance? Surely you’re not so lost to the natural world as, say, others in your lineage?” 

Adam places the cup onto a side table and shifts so that he’s looking directly at her. He slides in closer and places an arm on the rest behind her, “I could have you thrown out and blacklisted in all of France from what you’ve just said. Perhaps even sentenced. You’re aware of this, correct?” 

Belle angles her head, the brave façade cracking ever so slightly, “Yes, Master. And so now that you and I both know the consequences, what will you do?” 

The Prince sets a finger against his lips and bites at it, pondering, considering. There’s…something about her that doesn’t add up, at least not to the lifestyle he’s accustomed to. And it’s refreshing, albeit unnerving. “It’d be impolite to waste a good pot of tea I suppose. Even I’m not that harsh.” 

Belle breathes a whisper of relief; folding both legs beneath her bottom, she retrieves a rose-patterned duvet from the floor and wraps it around her waist. It’s not long after that she gets the aforementioned Shakespeare and flips to the last bookmark. 

“Oh, no. If I’m meant to overlook your gross ineptitude for obeying procedure, then we need to gather another stack of books. I’ll not soil the memory of this weakened moment with two lovers who achieved absolutely nothing in murdering themselves.” 

Belle giggles and Adam finds himself incapable of wiping a smile from his face – she’s different and weird, but most of all, she’s calmed his fervor without him knowing it’s happened. This has never occurred before; it’s disconcerting but he’s always been a curious sort of man, and this is a curious sort of situation. 

“Fair enough, Mon Prince. What might I steal for you?” 

“Instead of a novel, come, tell me more about you…your life before here and up ’til now.” Adam undoes the buttons of his navy and gold gilet, ridding himself of the proper garment. He wants to be comfortable, wants to make _her_ feel comfortable. 

Belle watches as he does this and smirks, “Oh, it’s a rather boring story. You might want to rethink Romeo and Juliet if this is the path we’re headed down.” 

For the second time that evening, the Prince laughs, his belly alight with an unfamiliar feeling. He’s not done that since his mother passed a decade earlier, of this Adam is absolute. 

No, it’s not passion at first, but it is their start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this AU where Belle works as part of the castle staff is really getting away from me, I know. I promise more canon starting tomorrow! 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH. I just...wow. I'm beside myself with your responses and absolutely love chatting it up with each and every one of you! Thank you for stopping in and taking the time. It's wildly amazing and I give all the thanks :)


	18. Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast reflects on his inner self as some of his desires come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not part of the AU ;) 
> 
> Another late night submission for you all!

Time spent with her was a curse in and of itself, a haunting that left little room for doubt. _She_ was the gift and the curse – achingly beautiful with brown hair and two soulful eyes that saw more, saw through to the very center of everything he had kept imprisoned inside. 

He trained his gaze on her often, particularly when he didn’t think she was paying any mind to him. Each day he watched as sunlight filtered through unkempt strands of chestnut, contouring the edges of her profile with a luminous halo of yellow. She was angelic in those moments, otherworldly and a thing to be both feared and loved. 

Beast had a secret though: beneath the malformed exterior and his imposition to desire, he was still a man. And so he took to her appearances fondly; her skin was smooth and scarless, save only for the exception of Belle’s palms, which were calloused and rough. This, a tell to the life of semi-hardship that she’s lived thus far. 

Beast staves away the lingering thoughts, but in the midst of everything, there are desperate moments where he longs to touch her – an arm, a cheek, anything. Instead he settles always for her hand. This is fair for him, polite for her and appropriate for their circumstances. Still, in the dead of night the calling resumes: he wants so much more – more than he’d ever admit to either heaven or hell. 

Most days she’s close to him while staying so shatteringly far; he sits with Belle and read novels well into early morn, remains side by side as the dawn rises at their feet, and yet. There is nothing beyond that. _Cannot_ be. 

He curses his curse twofold, staring at a distorted reflection in the mirrors that hang in his bedchamber; these were fractured one by one by an anger that is slowly starting to seep away. 

But tonight is the exception: Beast is chastising what he’s become, each part of him judged and exposed for who and what it truly was: monstrous and unworthy. His hair is not really hair, but rather fur…nothing but a mane built to choke at his throat. His teeth aren’t teeth, rather they’re large canine fangs meant to tear and consume an even larger prey. And his hands…oh, his hands. They’re too big, too bony and hairy, complete with thick razor-sharp claws. Claws that could hurt the one and precious body he dreams of holding. The rest and lower half doesn’t matter, as it only proceeds in the most unnatural of ways. Ways a woman like Belle must never be privy to. 

He howls at the glass, heart protesting every scream that speaks of how he had never any right to feel this way for her at all. 

There is no question that the girl has his heart and mind, and should a soul somehow remain, Belle holds claim to that, too. For he has been shown another way, another path – one that will not change the outcome but _has_ changed him. Belle has given him the gift of another curse and though his sadness is tantamount, he is more alive now than he’s ever been. He is grateful to be torn apart at the seams, shredded by doubt and guilt and every lasting emotion he had once sworn never to trust in. 

He _feels_ now, feels every minute, minuscule thing as it happens. From fear to happiness, insecurity and embarrassment – he’s accepted these foreign guests that have come to visit him after all this time. 

The cursed Prince sees what needs to be done, understands that with change comes risk. He also knows that risking oneself is not as simple as saying such the thing; one must sacrifice whatever has held them firm and resolutely unchallenged in every irreparable way. From small to monumental, each new lesson Belle has unknowingly taught brings with it an option to _be better._

And so he starts at the start. 

Freeing himself of the acrid, tattered banyan, Beast throws it onto the floor before thinking more on the decision; grasping the ratty cloth with both hands, he offers it up to the fire and grins. He watches as it burns away years of loneliness and isolation. Watches in submission as the flames eat the fabric from its tendrils, loosing him of a weight he hadn’t realized was so burdensome. 

Next comes the stretched, foul gilet and a matching pair of breeches. They each join the burn pile, one after the next, until he’s stood naked before a roaring fire. 

He doesn’t move until the last of it is gone, tiny flecks of textiles fluttering about his person. His mind sees them and is frozen in between a war of self-loathe and the pursuit of complete surrender. Beast _could_ tell Belle how he feels, hoping she may return the sentiments but no. Surely, this is something she would not do. 

He grumbles at the depression that’s swallowing him, uncertain if he’s made any progress at all, now that he’s here. Bare and lit only by an orange glow, he doesn’t know what should come next. To converse with Belle about this or to let their charade carry on as the universe intends for it to. 

A vision of the girl comes to him then, uninvited but disturbingly surreal: Laid out before him, she waits, eagerly anticipating all that he might give to her. He descends onto Belle and reaches out…but it’s a paw that touches her skin and, **“NO.”** It’s not right. It’s unnatural and wrong. But the mirage continues, acting as forbidden fruit, tempting and seducing him with salacious acts of unbidden urgency. 

Beast strikes at himself, hitting both fists against his thighs and chest before shaking his head; both mane and horns pass from from side to side, a growl roaring heavily from his lips. He can’t think this way, cannot imagine the girl in such impossible situations. She is not to be degraded in such self-serving fantasies – not Belle. Certainly not by the standards with which Beast has been adhered to. 

“Are you alright?” 

It’s her voice – she’s here, in the West Wing. In his chambers. And he wears no attire. “Please go.” 

He hears breathing as though Belle were standing near to him, and perhaps she was. He doesn’t move to assure himself either way, for the fear of showcasing his demonic form is all that’s needed to keep him. 

“I heard you screaming. I…I wanted to be sure you weren’t hurt. Or worse.” 

Two blue eyes close and he wants so much to thank her, to not treat her with contempt or irrational anger for coming here without welcome. Because it is all there still – the rage, the loss, the hunger, the desire, the forsaken – but there’s also the change, the alterations he’s admitted to himself. 

The Prince has a choice here, one where he might finally be able to do the right thing. “I had a waking nightmare. Burned my robes as they were wretched and you deserve to be surrounded by greater than that. I’m sorry it took me as long as it did.” 

Belle says nothing, slipping into a dead quiet so much so that the Prince shifts his head slightly to see if she’s fled. She’s not gone – Belle is somewhere else entirely though: her eyes are lost to a far off place, waring an expression that’s wholly relaxed and content. He leaves her be, admiring and curious all the same. 

It’s only a moment before she returns, “That banyan was quite awful, but you didn’t have to–“ 

“Yes, I did. Belle, I want to thank you for coming to check on my well-being. I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast. Goodnight.” It’s a polite dismissal but he feels it to be too…proper. As though he were excusing a servant and not a friend. _A Friend._

There’s a pregnant pause, so long and still and charged that he nearly whines from the stress of it all. 

“…May I see you?” 

Beast looks down, peering at his misshapen body all over again. Swallowing a whole new level of anxiety, he gathers the courage to speak, “Belle, please. Don’t ask this of me.” 

He doesn’t want to reveal himself to her, feels slightly ill at thought of her justified reaction – for he remembers how he felt when first looking upon his transformation. But she has become his weakness, his ally in the dark, and should she truly want such a thing, he’s hard-pressed to refuse. 

“I will not ask that of you, then. Goodnight.” 

His shoulders drop as each of her hushed footsteps find their way to the exit; the door closes gently and he falls to his knees. Exhaustion is near to claiming him, but one thought rises above the rest: 

How is he to survive if _this_ dance is meant to continue on between them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this doesn't cross any lines – I just think he'd had felt such things even when he probably shouldn't have! What do you think? 
> 
> As ever, as always, you. are. all. amazing. Thank you for sticking it out with me for the last 18 days – only 12 more to go! x


	19. Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle still lives in the village and one day, Prince Adam and his court come for a visit. Things take an unsuspecting turn and not all is as it seems...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU: But not servant-Belle AU ;) 
> 
> Sorry this one is a bit longer than the others. Longest fic in this series actually. It was unintentional!

“Desjardins! Get back here straight away!” Belle chases the tricky pet around a wash basin, silently cursing beneath her breath. It’s a ball of white and gray cotton, with a most vivid set of eyes: bluer than the sky above and earth's oceans combined. At the moment though, its appeal was lost as it tracked mud across the floor, showing no signs of caring, which, of course it didn’t. 

Despite the current muck and mess, Belle had been smitten from the day he sauntered into their kitchen a few months ago. He took to her and Maurice fondly, never once showing any of the familiar symptoms of a typical feral cat. 

Only, she wasn’t exactly supposed to _have_ a domesticated animal, given that most of the village viewed such things as trifling inconveniences. They claimed they were nothing more than a beggar’s meal, or good only for ridding a cottage of mice. But Belle liked the little orphan and decided to keep him, unsympathetic to the whines and rolled eyes she received as a result. The choice of name came from a memory she couldn’t quite recall in its entirety, only that it meant _something_ to her.

“You wild bugger! Stop that at once!” Just then, Maurice entered through the front door and halted, “Belle? Are you–Oh, I see.” 

The once and always gentleman laughed, his warm eyes taking in the harried scene unfolding before him. It wasn’t everyday his daughter was thrown out of sorts, let alone by their newest house member. “Why not let him tire, and then toss him in a bath?” 

Belle ignored the cavalier requests from her papa, making another spin around the antique sink until, at last, she caught the wicked feline behind his ears. She lifted Desjardins up and brought him to her nose, “Bad kitty! Now I’ll need to clean the floors again _and_ find time to give you a rinse. Of all the days…” 

Maurice set his tricorn top down onto the table and eased free of a loose, well-worn waistcoat. “I suggest you care not for that pet, Belle. The Prince and his court are expected to tour Villeneuve in a few short hours. Reassessing taxation laws apparently, which means you and I may move on from here sooner rather than later.” 

Belle brought Desja to her chest and cradled him, unworried about the dirt leeching onto the outside of her stay. “I heard of the court, but the Prince, too? Coming here himself? Why?” 

Maurice tilted his head, mirroring her own curiosity but said nothing more on the subject. “Come, let me take that wee pain while you go freshen up. I’ve heard Prince Adam is still a bachelor…despite him being of age for a few years now.” 

Belle groaned as she closed the distance, exasperatedly handing off the kitten before making way to the outdoor wash closet. “Father, I’m a commoner. If _’high society Prince Adam Lemaître’_ ever even made gaze at me, or any of us, I’d wager we all might turn into a sheep. Besides, who says I’d want to marry into that chaos?” 

Maurice strokes the matted bundled of fur in his arms and exhales a small chuckle – his daughter was her mother, of this there as no doubt.

–––––

“So, taxation alterations? How high could they possibly go? There won’t _be_ a village if they strip everyone of their hard-earned savings.” Maurice nodded, looking on as she reentered the small living space.

“I don’t know, ma fille. But we must be prepared for any change that comes. Best we be on our way to the square. The caravan will be arriving shortly and I’d like to have a good long look at the man who will be taking _additional_ food from off our plates.” 

It wasn’t but a five minute walk until they were stood by the fountain in Villeneuve’s market center. It was this place where every sort of good or service were sold and offered. Here where Belle’s ideas and few close relationships had flourished over the last few years. Of all the things she disliked in this town, and there were plenty to that list, this place was not one of them. 

“Make way for Prince Adam Lemaître! Make way, make way…” Belle tore her gaze from a local thread vendor and climbed up onto the fountain’s stone ledge to gain a better view. She rose above, taller than anyone else, and then, there he was: The Prince on his mighty steed, wearing fabrics that had been stained in colors Belle only ever imagined in her dreams. 

Prince Lemaître was handsome, lithe and tall, even on his horse he appeared to sit higher than every other rider in his court. There was that strong jaw – a fine bone structure that spoke to a prestigious lineage Belle could only fathom. 

He rode on, cutting a dividing line between the crowd of menfolk and swaths of women – everyone curious to glimpse the Royal himself. The Royal _bachelor,_ to be more precise. 

Belle watched as the heir made his approach, and assuming he would loop around the entire square before exiting from whence he came, she could do little but stand in grim silence. It was pomp and circumstance but nothing more – a ruse to goad the villagers into unjust financial restitution. 

Although, she heard once in the tavern that his father was the true culprit behind these grand displays of opulence and fear-mongering. That the Prince was merely the pretty face stamped onto his father’s campaign to starve the villagers out one by one. And because she knew of this deception, Belle’s heart ached to flee, as it always did. 

Instead, the girl looked on but maintained composure, not fawning or preening for his affections like several of the more nightly ladies. She didn’t raise her arms to be noticed, or clutch her bosom in a false show of passion. And yes, she had stood above throngs at first, but eventually had fallen back in with the townspeople after seeing her share. 

He was handsome, but that was as far it went. This man galloped into her hometown with the intent to thieve from her father’s emptying pockets and that was the extent of his character. He was a spoiled pawn, both willing and able-bodied; Prince Adam Lemaître was an accomplice to the Kingdom’s deceit and Belle needed not know anything else. 

Gripping the tail-end of her father’s waistcoat, she tugged on it, “I’d like to leave now, Papa.” He turned to her, finding his daughter’s face contorted by both anger and annoyance. Undoubtedly caused through a combination of people’s blind loyalty and the malice behind such a schemed visit. 

“Okay, mon petit, off we go then.” 

They slide and shifted and moved amongst the clamoring crowd until they came out the other side by Gaston’s Tavern. It was quieter here, as the roar of wanton voices caught the wind going in the opposite direction. 

“Let’s move quickly. Don’t want to be seen as disloyal or worse.” 

Belle nodded, understanding immediately what her father was implying. They treaded stone swiftly, engaging a back alleyway; from there the pair looped behind the rear of the tavern that ended on the other side. The last leg of their runaway journey was only a hop across the pond and then, they would reach their destination. 

But Maurice was slower and couldn’t leap as fast as she, “Take your time, Papa. Everyone is caught up throwing their livelihoods away.” 

“Not everyone, it appears.” Belle spun at the serious tone, discovering a tall man standing there, glaring at her and Maurice. It wasn’t the Prince himself but rather one of the men she had seen as part of the grandiose court. “I am Lumière, former counsel to the King and current aide to the Prince. Why have you saw fit to leave his majesty’s social call?” 

His voice was stern and posture even more so, but Belle saw something beyond the severity of his demeanor – choice. She didn’t feel as though he would reprimand either her or her father, and so she addressed him as one might to an equal, “Please send our deepest regrets to the Prince. My father wasn’t feeling well and we believed our appearance was suffice enough to please his majesty.” 

Lumière folded his hands behind his back and took a step towards her, “Ahh, oui, mademoiselle. But you neglected to remain for the forthcoming announcement. Tell me, is that your home?” He pointed to the little cottage just beyond the water’s edge and Belle thought it best to confirm, “Yes, monsieur. May I take my father home to rest? I shall then return, if it will please the Prince.” 

Maurice appeared by her back, gently folding a hand over her shoulder, “Ma chérie, I’m feeling better now since our swift walk. We shall both return.” 

“I think it’d be best if we three made passage to your home, together. His majesty will be brought along shortly. Perhaps you might entertain me with a cup of tea while we wait?” Lumière said this and proceeded to guide Belle by her elbow, steering them farther away from the cacophony of sound. 

She swallowed, peering at her father through side glances and nervous twitches of her head. “Nothing to worry about, mon petit, just an unexpected guest, is all.” Maurice whispered this but the words held no confidence or assurance – he didn’t believe them to be true so how could she? 

Lumière chortled at the old man’s foolish attempts but did not release her arm, “I like that. You’re a different sort, aren’t you?” 

“Mmm. Might I ask, how will Prince Adam know where you are? Where we are?” She pulled her at arm but his fingers held steadfastly; she glared at him before yanking hard. “I’ll not be made to fear my decision to care for an aging man– _sorry Papa_ –and I’ll not be mongered into…into whatever wicked plans you may have in mind for us!” 

The aide moved close to her then, a smirk cracking his stoney exterior, “Lumière, give it a rest. If the girl says her father is ill, then she has every right to tend to him as she sees fit.” 

“Ahh, Mon Prince, there you are. This was exhausting. I allowed this play of yours to affect me more than it should have. Ma chérie, Monsieur, I apologize for any wrongdoing. In all truthfulness, the Prince simply wanted to see you.”

Adam scoffed and kicked a boot into a fences wooden support. “Thanks, old friend, I’ll be sure to find a way out of that one quite nicely, no?” Lumière threw his hands up in the air and backpedaled, redirecting his attention onto Maurice, “Shall you and I venture indoors while these two share a highly informal greeting?” 

Skepticism marred Maurice’s features, but he acquiesced because of the look on her face: she was curious and not the least bit afraid. Belle was never afraid. 

“I’ll just be inside, then.” 

Belle hesitated and then offered up a genuine half-smirk, swallowing the nervous hump in the rear of her throat, “Make sure that blasted kitten doesn’t escape again?” 

“You have a cat?” Prince Adam first adjusted the cravat at the base of his neck, until resigning himself; pulling it free and dabbing his forehead, he exhaled heavily, “It’s quite hot in these dressings. Hotter than I expected, honestly. Anyway, I’m Adam. And you’re Belle? The girl I saw standing on the fountain?” 

Belle nodded and squinted her eyes, still unclear as to what was happening, “Yes. I was…curious.” 

“That lot out there is _too_ curious, aren’t they? But you’re not like them. You’re the girl who reads beneath thousand-year-old oak trees and washes her clothes with barrels instead of hands.” 

Unsure, uncertain and more than a little weary, Belle glanced at their surroundings to see if this was some secret plot that could lead her to the guillotine. “Ehm, I suppose. Do I…do we–have we met? Surely I’d have remembered if we had.” 

Adam pretended to take offense, grasping his heart and falling a step away, “I’m shocked! You don’t recall the lost afternoons in _Duchamps_ Field? With a blond-haired lad about yay-high?” 

Belle paused and bit her bottom lip, urging her mind to bring forth the memory this man was so clearly convinced was real. “Oh, now I’m just chuffed. My mother used to steal me away from the castle here and there. And Duchamps was where we would go. Your father would be there, too. Painting the landscapes, painting you… We skipped–“

“ **Rope!** We skipped rope on the tops of the hills and would fall, rolling down until we hit the shadow valley. Your mother and my father would holler then, and we’d race up where we would do it over and over again.” 

Adam smiled and removed the clips that kept the heavy wig to his head, “You remember.” 

Belle took a step to him, reaching up to touch his face, his real hair. At the last second she foundered, remembering anew, only this time who it was she was so inappropriately interacting with. 

“No, it’s okay. Please,” The Prince said, grabbing her hand and placing it upon his cheek, “It’s really me.” 

“It _is_ you. How did I never…your name wasn’t Adam, least not when we were together. It was…oh goodness…it was–“ 

The Prince grinned, “Desjardins. Mother thought it best if no one knew the truth of our identities. It kept us simple and safe. At least until my father caught wind. But that’s neither here nor there.” 

It was Belle’s turn to smile, again, at his admittance – she now understood why she gave her new pet that exact name. The boy with the bluest eyes may have been lost but he was never fully forgotten. 

“And you’ve come here to see me? After all this time?” 

Adam leaned into her palm and sighed, “I’ve wanted to ever since I wasn’t able to. This life – this…political charade is taxing and I…wasn’t capable of coming after mother passed. But now, well…I… Belle, I wonder if we might go inside and reacquaint ourselves properly?” 

“Of course, my lieg-“ He stops the practiced protocol with two fingers pressed to her mouth, “No, don’t. I’m just Adam to you. Okay?”

Belle nods, her eyes smiling for the both of them, “So that means I can hug you again, too, yes?” He doesn’t wait nor offer an answer, instead wraps the girl in an embrace he’s dreamed of for over a decade. Eventually they invite space back in between, albeit reticent to part so soon. 

“Come, I fancy an introduction to the feline you unwittingly named after me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, the 'cat' prompt was harder than hard and my brain concocted about a thousand different shit ideas before this one popped to mind. I hope it wasn't crap? Would absolutely LOVE to hear either way :) 
> 
> AND OVER 4100+ views? I am literally beside myself. Thank you from the moon to the sun and stars and back again. I owe every word and sentence to you.


	20. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle is sick & Beast sits with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! Who knew! And no AU! Think of this as a missing scene between the outside walk/poetry read and their ballroom dance.

After several days of denying the inevitable, Belle finally succumbed to the chill caught in her chest. She felt terrible: her joints ached, head throbbed and her throat was so painfully raw that it caused a wince every time she spoke. It was as though fine grains of sand made their way down and into there without so much as a warning first. 

She decided not join her companion in the library that evening, forlornly canceling his request through Mrs. Potts. Instead, the girl draped her shivering body in a duvet _and_ a quilt, sinking her head deeper into a pit of endless pillows. The location was comfortable but the situation was horrid; her jaw clenched, skin crawling – its hair standing directly up – Belle had a fever.

Curling her legs into herself, she held on and tugged at the extra blanket. Bringing it to her neck, she wove both hands into the extra soft and breathed deeply. It didn’t smell…badly, rather, its scent was a familiar one – _his._

“Beast.” She whispered that, letting the thought of him fill her with memories – few fresh and others not so. They rushed at her, visions dancing within her weakened mental state: When they had met in the turret tower outside of her father’s cell. A sick, old man, kept locked away for stealing a single rose. Him yelling at her, banging on the bedchamber door in a fury she had never known. 

Sometimes she feels pressure build behind her skull at those remembrances, but now, lately he was something else entirely. To her as well as around her. 

He wore menswear well, donning long coats and even a gilet every once and again. And he was gentle, too, in surprising, unassuming ways. Beast would hold the door or take her hand as they descended the high stairs where there no longer existed a bannister. He’d makes jokes, completely unaware of them sometimes but still others she swore were done purposefully. Most of all though, he spoke from his heart whenever anyone made mention of the Enchantress or the curse. 

Beast told Belle how things had gone in the days after, and the following weeks and months until eventually, years had passed. How it felt to live as something other than what you were born as. She was sympathetic but not from a place of similar circumstance; Belle understood being different and shared as much as he, but a curse was not a point of relation between them. Still, she was an ear and he was honest, and that’s where the sympathy was born. 

Yet, he had not gone so far as to tell her how the curse might be broken, and it wasn’t long until she started to guess what may or may not do the trick. They would talk for hours at the dining hall table or library lounges, conversation centered around such theories, but he’d never confirm or deny a single one of them. 

She pondered on those suppositions now – “Maybe a kiss from a toad? Or toad-woman? How about an potion, likened to the one we read about in _L’Elixir de Longue Vie_?” He would laugh, the creases beside his lips bunching up, mane moving and eyes pinching from the innocent humor of it all. If only she knew the truth.

Belle fancied that laugh, and his smile, oftentimes left curious as to what the man underneath that fur looks like. On certain nights she was plagued by guilt over such shallow thoughts, as though she were quietly betraying the comfort of her friend with musings of the ‘what if’ sort. 

But she had seen the paintings, glimpsing those same blue eyes on a regal, pale face and it was nearly impossibly not to wonder. Belle had no imminent urge to divulge this but he never asked, and that was a status quo both found they could live with. 

Tonight though, as the cold took her mind elsewhere, Belle had a need for…more. More about him, more of who he was and why this truly had happened. She longed for an unscheduled visit but wouldn’t dare ask out of the impoliteness of such a request. 

“Belle?” 

His voice came on the wind like a lighthouse guiding its ships home on ravaged seas – she heard it so clearly, so closely, that it almost seemed a dream. “Are you here?” Her words struggled, fighting to be heard amidst the illness ripping inside of her throat. 

“I am. Shall I stay? I become concerned when Mrs. Potts delivered your message. You’re unwell?” 

Belle nodded, not realizing that he wouldn’t be able to see the unvoiced reply, “I’ll go then. Return first thing tomorrow to check on you, if-if that’s alright?” She grumbled at that, not wanting him to go; using an arm, she waved it up into the space above her head, a signal for him to come over. 

“You want me to stay?” He was at her side in breadth of a heartbeat, leaning over to gain a better view of her condition. “I should call Mrs. Potts in here to tend to you. Your skin is very ashen and your lips aren’t as red as…they normally are.” He allows his head to fall at that, shying at a comment wholly inappropriate considering the issues at hand. 

“She was already here. I just need rest, but my mind won’t let me sleep. Will you…stay a spell?” He grins and nods once, sitting down beside her on the expansive mattress. She barely takes up a quarter of the space allotted, appearing lost in an ocean of fabrics and feathers. 

The girl coughs, and the sound of loose phlegm rises from within her lungs. The involuntary action stabs at Belle, contorting her body into discomforted angles as she howls into a handkerchief. Eventually she settles and inhales slowly, calming the fervor. 

“Why were you cursed? Tell me again, please. It can’t have been over the refusal of an old woman with a rose, surely?” Beast tears his gaze away and looks around, from the table to Madame de Garderobe and back again. Her whispers have lanced straight to the heart of him, but he’s already found that he will never deny Belle, and so, “I was a terrible man as a Prince. Mistreated every village and province under my rule, leaving most without any earned coin to live. I had everything at my fingertips and abused it, for I did not see the truth or meaning to…” 

She turns onto her side to look on him, glazed eyes forcing themselves to focus, “Meaning to-to what?” He brushes silky strands of messed hair away from her forehead, forgetting for a split second in time that he’s…what he is. 

Belle doesn’t flinch or shy away, rather smiles warmly, accepting his gesture for what it was. “Life. I didn’t see what I had, couldn’t understand how good it all could have been. Never knew what it meant to love or be loved. Still really…don’t.” 

There’s a few slow blinks before Belle’s eyes finally shut. He’s still stroking the top of her hairline, running his fingers through in the hopes of easing her sick body into a state of complete rest. “Surely…y-you’ve b…een loved?”

The words are slurred and Beast knows she’s not really aware of what’s happening anymore. He knows what it means to be so wrecked by illness that up from down becomes nearly indiscernible. He takes a chance that his suspicions are correct, knowing it could very well damn him.

“Not yet. But I know what it is to love now, because of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially 10 days remaining for this challenge. Be honest: am I driving you mad yet? Hope not, but I understand if so! As always, thank you thank you thank you for every interaction you've shown this series. I know AUs aren't everyone's bag, or angst, or what not, so it means the world if you've liked even ONE chapter here :) x


	21. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Adam's marriage is to be arranged, but Belle and he are bound to one another. There's a celebration, a cruel father and a weighty choice they must both make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another AU! Kiiiiind of related to the others where Belle is the servant and they cannot be together, but different entirely.

It was a regal celebration at House Lemaître, complete with far off invitees adorned in the country’s latest and wealthiest of fashions. The ballroom decor was unparalleled, second best only to the King’s social affairs in Versailles. But no one on this night compared one from the other…much. 

For in here there were roses draped from every end of the expansive space – their floral, airy scents intoxicating and alluring to all who glided beneath. These members of court moved with a higher standard, their bodies floating in a seamless coordination of bright colors and spacial awareness. For tonight may be _the night_. For one lucky Parisian, this evening could see her engaged to the man of her financial dreams:

The Prince, yet unwed, was the sole heir to his father’s loathsome rule, and though he acted the part flawlessly in public, Adam was resolutely anything but. He hadn’t ever been ruthless or cruel, callous or hard, despite the best efforts of such a wicked man. 

The Prince was not vile because had been shown a better way, shown how to be a better man. Still, his time as a bachelor was waning and every hour that wiled away was another wound left to be torn asunder. By words, fists and threats – it hadn’t mattered to Prince and Master Baron Lemaître, a man who had been born to hate. 

Adam learned early on that his father had no heart, no love for his fellow man and surely none for him, his only son. After the young Prince’s mother had succumbed to the chill, he had been the focus of his father’s demons; torments came swift and often, his little body paying wages far too costly at such a young age. 

But he survived not by the wishes of a mother long deceased, or even the support proffered by the castle staff, no. Adam had been carried and held safe by a girl. A girl orphan who had arrived when he was eight years old and she, a frightened toddler of five. The girl who had no one, just as he. 

They found each other and never once looked back. They shared their dreams, hopes, and aspirations – even went so far as to plan their entire wedding, despite knowing it could never come to fruition. At first they didn’t mind such an inconvenience but as they grew older together, a tragedy birthed within that was insurmountable. 

As a result of this kinship, Adam had battled against his father, rejecting any and all brides brought forth as options – refusing on either beneficial or superficial terms. It had sufficed for a long while – father believing he was as shallow as he – but the recompense was swift and severe; in the days after the youth would turn another heiress away, the Prince inherited split lips and facial bruises that ran the full spectrum of color.

It pained the girl to see her love so physically beaten, more than once she had pleaded with Adam to give in – that they could make it, despite her being disallowed his namesake. _”Never, mon amour, never. You are mine and I am yours.”_

But the years bore on, taking with them any chance that Adam might realize the path his heart, and hers, so desperately longed to take. 

However tonight, this gala had proven worrisome from the moment it had been planned. His father was been ill in recent months, and purposely arranged this grandiose soirée in hopes of seeing his son married before an untimely demise. 

The nerves and gravitas of such pressure loomed heavily on the Prince; prior to donning his elegant formalwear, Adam sleuthed the false hallways to visit his best friend and lover. 

“What did he say?” 

“Only that tonight was the last – that a bride must be chosen, be it by him or I. That by mid-year his heir would no longer be the greatest disappointment of his life and reign.”

The girl, a handmaiden named Belle, held his jaw as the truth ravaged him. She kissed his forehead before threading her fingers into that kept hair, pulling it ever so, “Oh, mon Prince, we knew…we **knew** someday this was to be. Do what the Kingdom has called upon of you but hold fast to this love – believe in it and I. No officiant or title can ever take this from us.”

Adam reaches for Belle; bringing her body closer, he holds tight to the good in this world between two shaking arms. She has never abandoned him – not after the beatings or tongue and whip lashings. Not after he begged her to flee, to leave the castle and never return – sparing herself and ensuring her own safety. Not even the night he was stripped naked, unabashedly crying as blood from puncture wounds from his father’s practice lance seeped. She was unafraid of the Master but afraid for her Prince, and that, and their union, kept her bound. 

”Ma Belle, it sickens me to realize…that one day I must–“ She covers his mouth with a slow, sensual kiss, pulling him underneath and settling onto his lap. ”What she will take from you is nothing compared to what you will give me.”

Adam’s brow raises as the words find purchase, thoughts and imaginations running wild. She’s always been a summer storm, a fire burning so impressively hot that he wondered on occasion if she were real. But she was, and his body proved as much. 

”Save a dance for me tonight, my love, I’ll need to see you up close and personal in that court costume of yours…” 

She bounces once, twice before rising, effectively leaving her Prince wanting. But she knows he will have her after the conclusion of this ceremonial evening. Knows they will both need it more then than ever before. 

Belle waits there a moment, then nods her head towards the door, “Might I suggest you run along to prepare? You’ll be late if not.” Adam stands and wraps a hand around her waist, “I care not about that, ma chérie, only that I get to spend time in your company.” 

She grins, bites her bottom lip and then pushes at his shoulder, “Go. Don’t forget tonight. Our dance.” 

Shuffling on, he opens the entranceway, peers out and leaves, but not before turning back, “Never.”

––––

“May I present to the court, and to Prince Baron Lemaître and Prince Adam Lemaître, Heiress Jezebel Valentin.” The crowd gathers around this foreign beauty, taking in the stunning woman at their forefront. With eyes as deep as the dark and hair to match, she’s a rare beauty for her time.

“My liege, Mon Prince, I am honored to be here. This palace is as splendid as spring, replete with scents that will surely remain with me all the years of my life.” Adam sat beside his father as the woman continued on, her diatribe sickeningly sweet and wholly uninspiring, as were the others. 

His father however, seemed to take a vested interest in this woman from the start, and so minute stirrings caused inherent panic to surge inside of Adam. In a rash and unexpected burst of emotion, the Prince Master stood, holding his arms out to his sides to quiet the room.

“I believe we _finally_ have cause to celebrate! As decreed by the Royal Court and approved by King Louis XIV, my son, Heir to the throne, First Of His Name, Prince Adam Lemaître, is henceforth betrothed to Heiress, Princess Jezebel Valentin!” The crowd erupted into an appraising madness; every woman shedding tears from either joy or rejection, or both. But their smiles appeared far too false or far too wide to be trusted. 

Adam sat in stunned grievance, his eyes searching the crowd for any signs of Belle. He had glimpsed her once earlier, pushing a serving cart through the throngs of rude socialites. He wanted so much to accost them in retribution for the disrespect they had shown her, but it was impossible at best. And she had gone just as quick as she had come, it seemed. 

“Go on, Adam, take to the floor with your bride.” His father, the Master of this puppeteering act, pushed at a shoulder, the hand remaining there for just a second too long. The young Prince felt the iron grip despite the layers of silk and jewels that were sewn into his long coat and swallowed. The hate burned within the eyes that held his own but he acquiesced with nary a protest. It would earn no one any favors to refuse the man now, not after the King had been mentioned.

“Heiress Jezebel, if we may?” Adam extended a hand to her and the murmuring court parted all around them. Ceremonial music began to play as Maestro Cadenza and his talented wife, Madame de Garderobe, started in on a prepared aria. 

As they moved, Adam couldn’t see much beyond his vantage point; a wall of people created an impenetrable circumference around the newly appointed couple. The Prince only saw high wigs and wide, burgeoning panel gowns – amidst a sea of jealous faces. 

“You have the most handsome eyes I’ve ever been beholden to, my Prince.” Adam returned her sentiment with a half-smile, immediately looking away after. “Much gratitude, my Heiress.” 

“Who do you seek in the crowd, my liege?” Adam retracted his gaze and brought it back to the new woman holding his hands. He assessed her forwardness, finding a spur of surprise at it happening so soon, “I don’t believe I mentioned any such seeking.” 

She tilts her head and paints on a grin, “Ahh, but a woman always knows. Do you have another waiting for you here? Is this not to be?” The Prince twirls her around, much to delight of the court, “I have a life of my own, as I’m sure you do.” 

Valentin nods and slips into a contented silence, grasping onto him as he spins, moves and guides them each from one end of the marble to the next. It’s not long before their efforts conclude; Adam bows, Jezebel curtsies and then they part ways. “I shall meet with you soon, Mon Prince.” 

Adam cringes through his teeth but the polite grin never falters, “Heiress.” 

Walking away, he returns to sit beside his father and prays for respite. One long enough so that he might search for the object of his affections. “You’ll marry in a month or two. But you’re to spend every night with her until you put a babe in that belly. That is not a request, Adam.” 

The Prince turns, finding a feral smile waiting and he wants so badly to strike that blackened heart with the same sword that gave him every scar he now wears. “Father, we are not yet wed. How is this passable by law?” 

His elder leans down, “I am the law and you will do as I command.” 

Adam swallows, shifting his attention back onto the crowd. Not tonight, not _tonight._ It can’t…he won’t do it. “May I be excused? It’d be best to converse with the woman sharing my bed this evening, yes?” 

His father flicks a hand in his direction and Adam races from the risen throne platform. He bypasses Jezebel for the time being, offering an empty nod of recognition as he goes. His heart aches to see, touch and hold Belle – shattering to know the truth that lies just beyond the horizon. 

He exits the ballroom and runs feverishly down the hallway. He waits until the guests have returned to their wines and gossip, and then slips inside a door to a very specific service corridor. 

She’s there.

“Have you come for me?” 

Adam takes her arm and wraps it around his neck, pulling her flush against his chest. He rests his forehead onto a shoulder, closing both eyes to breathe her in completely. He’s wrecked and needful, hands moving all over her – from waves of chestnut and down along her strong spine. Committing this moment to memory.

“I…I have to be _with_ her. Tonight. Father has commanded it.” 

Belle doesn’t let go of him or acknowledge his statement, instead she massages her hands up and under his wig, knocking it slightly off to one side. “Then I will have you now, mon amour.” 

They waste not a second on sadness or regret; devouring one another in a fit of passion and abandon, their fever ignites a desire the Prince has had for a great many years now. His body longs to get to _hers_ first, to do as he should have done, for he knew his life would always lead them here. As did she.

He stops, a decision made, but still he must ask: “Dance with me, ma Princess?”

“Oui, mon Prince, _oui. Please, Adam._ ” 

He knows what she’s agreeing to, understands what it’ll mean, but she is the girl who saved his life time and again. Who never left or gave up on him – the girl who never will. No matter the bride in the ballroom or demands of his father, Adam and Belle will still have this. 

And so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I thanked you all enough? Because THANK YOU! I cannot tell you what it means to chat with you all in the comments or tumblr or discord now. The best fandom is the best. x


	22. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Adam & Mrs. Potts share a conversation before he heads off to the library to see a certain girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff? You decide! It sort of carries the 'Passion' prompt forward in time...

“You’ve been visiting that girl in the library for a great long while now, haven’t you, mon Prince?” Mrs. Potts pours a teacup full of hot water and steeped chamomile, her brows rising in knowing question. 

“I… Well, I don’t think it’s any of your business, now is it?” The woman shrugs her shoulders and sets down the porcelain pot, wiping the excess water from her fingers on an apron. “No need to be spoiled over it, I was merely making an observation is all.” 

She watches the young man as he runs twitchy fingers through golden-brown hair, paying particular mind that he’s _not_ wearing his wig this afternoon. Or any of the times she has caught him visiting the library’s handmaiden. 

Though the curled abomination was typically reserved for court and public appearances, the Prince’s father had made the boy wear one for as long Beatrice could recall. Still, it was curious that he’d been neglecting it as of late. 

“And your wig, Sire?” Adam turned around and glared – up until his body visibly deflated. Shaky hands fell to weakened knees, shoulders slumping as a great plume of air slipped between his lips, “What am I doing, Mrs. Potts? I shouldn’t be…this is far too dangerous. For her, not me.” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, you’re only chatting with the girl, yes?” Adam barely nods, unable to directly meet her gaze, “Adam? You _are_ only making polite conversation…or is there more?”

“We read a bit in the afternoons, but…but I… This is difficult to explain. No one would understand.” Beatrice sets herself down onto the lounge opposite her Prince, tapping his kneecap, “Go on.” 

“She’s smart and funny, bites at me whenever my temper or temperament gets too…Princely. Her taste in novels is impeccable and she’s…very beautiful. I find I like the sound of her voice and even more so, the way being around her makes me fe– _Why_ are you looking at me that way?” 

Mrs. Potts rises from out of her seat and rushes to the entrance, sealing the door shut with a finger crossed atop her lips. She shuffles back and sits beside him, “Mon Prince, how long has this been going on?” 

“Ehm, I think…since last Winter? We spend nights in there together. Not always on purpose. We read until we sleep claims us. Those are my favorite nights.” 

The older woman smiles warmly and touches a hand to his cheek, “Oh, deary, you’re a man in love, is what you are.” 

Adam stands as irrational reticence soars through him, “I most certainly am not. She’s a servant, a handmaiden, she has no place in my life let alone my heart.” 

Mrs. Potts looks away, knowing this is his father speaking and not him. Still, the truth arrives on the edge of a knife, “And so where do I – a servant and housekeeper – fit into your life or your heart?” 

She makes to leave at that, unable to glance at the boy she has cared for all the days of his life. He does this sometimes, and though she suspects it’s out of ingrained defense, it hurts just the same. Beatrice is at the door by the time Adam finally speaks again. 

“Mrs. Potts I–I’m…I can’t love her. You know I can’t.” Twisting the golden knob around, the lock gives and a cacophony of heavy wood and well-worn metal fills the space between, “Then don’t. Or do. What does your heart tell you?” 

She doesn’t wait for him to respond, instead slips gone in complete silence.

–––––

Eventually the day comes to a close but he does well to keep to _their_ schedule, their routine, treading a familiar path to the library. He watches over his shoulder, each step more hushed than the next. It’s after hours of official operation, but he knows she’ll be there, expecting at any minute. She always is.

“Ahh, he reveals himself!” Her voice is light and teasing, a stack of novels already resting in her arms, “I’ve found a handful of gems this afternoon, you won’t belie–Have you an event this evening, mon Prince?” 

She gestures to the wig that’s pinned and set onto his head in curiosity; he never wears one with her, at least not since that first time. But now, here, he is. 

“Do you remember what I said to you when we first met?” Belle places her books down onto a nearby tabletop and swallows, brushing a frayed strand of hair from her eyes, “Yes. I remember a distinct sound that was both cold and judging as you said, “Oh. You. After that, you proceeded to ask my name in a most rude manner.” 

“What do you expect from me, Belle? From this?” Adam gestures from his chest to all of her, contorting his face in a mockery of sorts – it’s apparent he’s doing his best to belittle their affair. She allows him to continue on in this distaste, if only to see where it will lead them. Only, she’s uncertain as to why it’s happening so suddenly.

“To read and enjoy an intellectual conversation now and again. Just as I thought you wanted, otherwise, why show up?” She crosses her arms over her bosom and trains her gaze onto him. He admires her bravery, despite knowing it may very well be her downfall one day. Just as it could have been that first evening. 

“Every night is not ‘now and again,’ Belle. Surely you see how intrinsically wrong this has been.” 

Belle’s arms fall to her sides as a false grin paints its way over her features, “Oh, I see what this is. Your father caught you, didn’t he? Or you’re afraid he will catch you. His Heir, frolicking in secret with the poor, unworthy servant girl. And now you’re here to, what exactly, make _me_ feel guilty for finding friendship in you?” 

Adams steps to her, closing the charged distance, “Friendship? This is _friendship_ to you?” She answers with a vehement nod before spinning around to get away from him, “I thought as much, clearly I was mistaken.” 

She brushes past him, an arm hitting into one of his on purpose, uncaring as to any reprimand or repercussion she may face. This was just him, giving into the fear of his father, and Belle believed she had every right to accost her Prince for it. 

He stops her, placing a loose grip around her forearm before she fled too far away, “You…you dare speak to me like that?” 

She squints two eyes and gazes ahead, somewhere off in the distance, gaining courage to speak out against this nonsensical rhetoric. Belle turns her face to meet his, tilting it high so he won’t miss a single syllable, “You are a fool, my liege, and I am not bound to tolerate any such foolishness. Not from you or any other ma–“

He stops her once again, only this time it is by his mouth; Adam kisses her with an urgency neither has ever known or felt before each other. Cradling her head with both of his hands, he holds onto her as hard as he can without hurting the girl. 

She does the same, angrily pulling the ceremonial wig off his head, paying no mind to the wincing or gasps as strands of his real hair go along with it. Their breaths are ragged but Belle is determined to set him straight,

“Don’t ever wear this with me, and don’t–“  
“Shhh…”  
“I’ll not shh–“  
_”Shhhh…”_  
“Hmmm…”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“You should be.”  
“I am.” 

He lifts her up and sets her onto the edge of an olive-wood table, pressing her shift and stay high towards her middle. Adam wants to be closer tonight, as he’s wished every end of day since that initial meeting. “Mon Prince, are you to have me this evening or not?” 

He nips at her before smiling, running fingers through her hair and down her back as he pushes onto her, “Only if you will have me back?” 

“Yes, _oui_ , always.” 

He grins again and removes his teal gilet, body ready and poised to do what they both desire. Suddenly, he stops, thinking onto the conversation he held earlier with his housekeeper. “Belle, what does your heart whisper to you of me?” 

She folds her feet together behind him and takes his serious jaw into each hand, “That it wants mine. Not because it can have it but because it wants it. Oh, my love. You know we’ve doomed ourselves from the start… How could you ever believe a wig would turn me away? Could destroy all that we’ve built?” 

Adam’s head falls and she places a kiss onto his hair – breathing in a scent that is just so purely _him._ A scent she’s fallen for time and again over the last year. 

“Don’t ever let me disregard you again, even if you can see right through to the meaning of it. Stop me before any foul words exit my body – you don’t deserve that.” Belle laughs and brings him to her, “Only if you hush up and give me what I want.” 

“Oui, yes, _always._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure I love this one – my brain is FIRED today between work, life and this challenge, so I'm sorry for not delivering as well as I know I can. Routine surprisingly stumped me! 
> 
> As always, thank you for every kudo, comment, and then some – I have nothing but gold stars and more fics coming for you amazing lovelies.:)
> 
> Lastly: what would you all like to read more of? 8 days remaining and I'm struggling to NOT continue AUs or do the same extended scenes over and over again that I've done before! Let me know below? x


	23. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast & Belle share a dinner...and wine. Conversation ensues and things happen, only not according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, yeah, I sort of went there. But not really. 
> 
> Takes place sometime after the "something there" scene but before the dance.

It’s a simple meal they’re enjoying together – complete with tureens full of seasoned tomato soup and freshly baked sourdough rolls. And wine. This is the first evening they’ve been offered the drink and Belle, after little to no complaint, accepted eagerly. 

The red they shared was a vintage Bordeaux, brought and stored in the castle’s wine cellar nearly two decades ago. Beast hadn’t considered a drink since before his wicked predicament but this night felt as good as any to indulge. For he and Belle shared an entire afternoon roaming the castle grounds, entertaining Philippe and tossing balls of fluffy snow at one another. 

In short, Beast believed it was a good day and one worth remembering. 

“This is absolutely delicious! I’ve never– _hiccup_ –had such luxuries before now, least none so tasty.” 

Beast laughs as he watches her, pink-tinted cheeks and glazed eyes peering back at him with a perpetual smile etched onto that lovely face. “Well, I’m happy to see one thing here has pleased you.” 

Belle retrieves her flute and rises, tipping slightly to one side, “Not just this one thing, I’ll have you know. Anyway, shall we take this–and that brilliant bottle–to the library? A fire would really round this night out, yes?” 

He tilts his head and nods in agreement, standing to walk swiftly so that he might steady the girl – who’s a bit more wobbly than he expected. “How many sips have you imbibed already, little Belle?” She rounds her neck at the endearment and pats his chest; adopting a posh air, Belle turns her nose up, “It’s impolite to ask a lady how much she’s consumed. You’d do well to remember that.” 

He chortles at her Royal comedy and proceeds to guide them towards their destination. “Shall we read tonight as well? Or–“ 

Belle silences the Beast with hand to his mouth; walking backwards and ahead, there’s an unfamiliar glimmer setting off signals he hasn’t felt in far too long a time. Signals he has no right or place to feel with her or any woman. Not as he is. 

“I think I’d fancy a chat, if you’re amenable to such? I have so many things I’d love to say and learn and…will you accommodate a curious lass on this fine, crisp evening?” She takes his hand and pulls him along after her, and suddenly he’s lost to a disbelieving sea of stupor – she _can’t_ actually mean anything by all this, could she? 

He remains silent, his flute of wine bouncing along in what was formerly a solid, steady grip. It splashes onto his thick hide every once and again, but he pays no mind to it. Only the girl holding to him, leading them to a place they’ve spent a great many hours within. 

They arrive and she allows herself to fall onto the wide lounge in one careless heap, “Finally! The fire is perfect, now please, sit with me.” 

Beast recalls a time in his life when he’d be the one here, seducing staff members and foreign visitors alike. Now he was being ordered and lead around similarly to that of a stray puppy. A coil in his belly begins to heat at the idea of being viewed as an _it_ – an animal – versus a man, even though he himself was guilty of the same. But for her to–“Before you were cursed, were you a rake?” 

She settles, folding both legs beneath her bottom while simultaneously refilling her glass with the sweet-scented liquid. “Well?” 

He adjusts his banyan and eases himself down beside her, purposely leveraging the grandiose space in between them. “Ehm, I…well, I suppose…” 

Belle laughs, covering her mouth to stifle the echoing sound, “You were, weren’t you? No Prince in any Kingdom _wasn’t_ as such. I was merely curious to see what you were going to answer with. So, why the coyness?” 

He bites a lip and settles his spine against the soft velvet behind him, “I’m not really sure. But since you’re so curious, how about you then? Were–or rather, are–you of the libertine sort?” Belle mocks a syncopic episode until she adopts a knowing grin, “Are you asking if I’m a lady of the night?” 

Beast swallows a mouthful of wine in an accidental gulp and coughs; sputtering a few droplets of crimson onto the olive floor beneath his bare feet, he wipes his lips and inhales slowly. “No, not quite that. I suppose it’s none of my business anyway.” 

Belle finishes the last of her beverage and sets the empty glass onto a nearby end table. “I am not, nor was I ever that type of woman. But enough about me. My life has been boring and utterly drab, I want to know about you. Don’t you long for those nights and…other things anymore?” 

His gaze moves towards the flickering of flames as a sadness washes over, “I miss quite a lot, Belle, but not the shallowness of my former self.” 

She sees then that a nerve has been struck; pushing herself up onto her knees, Belle leans onto him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up the past quite so vividly. It’s clear I shouldn’t drink and talk all on the same evening.” 

He turns and she’s right there, flushed face, opened mouth and red lips impossibly near – it’s a dangerous temptation but he’s not certain she knows it. “It’s alright. You did not curse me, Belle, I was responsible for my own actions. And I didn’t think–I didn’t expect…” 

A hand goes to rest on his shoulder and she squeezes affectionately, offering reassurance through the pressures of contact. He exhales heavily at her brazenness, a leg starting to bounce involuntarily. 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” The words come as a whisper but his head goes from left to right indicating that no, she is not in fact, making him ill at ease. “Then why are you afraid of me?” 

He chuffs and directs his gaze elsewhere, “I am no such thing.” She sets her chin on his wide shoulder and tentatively runs a pair of fingers through the long strands of his mane, “You are though. Is this too much? Are we not allowed?” 

His mind reels at way she is treating him; he wants this, has dreamed of it, but surely as the sun rises, it cannot be. He is a creature – an inhuman half-man that’s less than anything she could ever deserve. 

“Belle, it’s the drink. You’d never…this wouldn’t be happening otherwise.” She moves away at that and pulls her arms into herself, crossing them over her chest. “Are you implying that I’m not in control of my own actions? That the…way I feel for you is untrue?” 

Cerulean-blues widen and he slips to floor, kneeling before her, “Look at me, Belle, _see_ all that I am. You can’t possibly desire this–I can’t fathom such a thought. We are friends, companions, but we are not meant to entertain anything more than that.” 

Belle straightens her torso and stands, walking past his genuflected form, “We are… You are impossible. I–I thought you…and here I am, a stupid, poor village girl. Of course you wouldn’t take to me. You really are a limited, pompous Prince.” 

Storming away, he’s stunned into silence before the rational side of his mind catches up, “Belle, don’t go. Please.” 

She halts mid-stride but doesn’t make nor move to face him. And so he goes to her – in all ways, in any form, he would see to it that he does. Despite the twists and turns this evening has taken, his affections have not dwindled. If anything they’ve spilled over into nerve-wrecking territory. 

“Lies, the words you’re speaking are untruths.” She starts at that but he hushes her with the pads of his fingertips, “You are not a stupid, poor village girl. Neither do you believe me to be a vile, spoiled Prince you’ve just made claim to. But Belle…no matter the desire, you and I cannot _be_ what it is you want wanted here tonight. That you even wanted anything is a miracle unto itself.” 

Belle smiles a weakened half and then leans into him, wrapping her arms as far around his size as she is able, “Your words are, too, I hope you realize this.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Like you said, it’s all lies. You are afraid, not of me but of what we could have, if only you opened yourself to feeling. Right here.” Her finger presses to his heart; he shakes his head in a delayed reaction, as a swell rises within. He’s just about to grab her hand and throw caution to the wind when it all comes crashing down. 

She’s freed herself of their embrace and has already stepped away; eyes trained on him, mouth not completely closed, “I’m going to my bedchamber now. Goodnight, _friend._ ” 

“Belle, you can stay, I’ll talk. Tell you anything – everything.” 

“No. You are not ready. You think you are, but you’re too fearful to see beyond yourself. Perhaps you might one day and then we can try this again.” 

He thinks a spell as she makes way towards the exit; how had it come to this? Was he so close but mentally too distant? Beast doesn’t long for their night to end on uncertain terms, and so a new fear births deep in his gut. What if all they have created has gone in the span of one disappointing conversation? 

He cannot let this happen, not now, not with her. She’s…everything. 

Just as her hand grips the weighted knob, his voice carries across the expanse, “May I at least walk you to your room?” 

The girl looks over a shoulder and purses her lips, “I’d like that.” 

Perhaps not all is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, once again I ask: have I crossed the lines with this one? I can't help it at this point, I think. They loved one another as they were, not as they might have been. And this *had* to be on their minds. Belle merely used the alcohol to speak up more than she might have otherwise. Would LOVE to know your thoughts on this one. 
> 
> Thank you for e v e r y t h i n g. Every kudo, comment, view, etc. I am beyond grateful. Only a week worth of prompts left – OMG this went fast!


	24. Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle leaves to rescue her father and Beast is left reeling. Will she come back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight AU from the original & revamped tale. No mob scene essentially.

It's unclear how long he's remanded himself between the stone monsters on the apex of his fortress. All was quiet, frozen and hardened over, as the Beast's heart bled out from her exodus. 

There was no longer a trace of yellow on the horizon, no glimmer of sunlight or warmth of any kind – she had taken it all and left him alone. Abandoned to retire into a life of loneliness and heartache. But he would bare that cross for at least he had born its weight. 

She had become everything to him – the sun, the moon, the stars, every element, every song, and every great novel that’s ever been written. Belle was that and yet somehow _more_. And he had let her go. 

Perhaps one day she might gaze upon his monstrousness through the mirror, finding only an animal laid naked and feral amongst bones and broken things. This is where he will remain, in a shadow underworld, a halfling where no light or life can ever penetrate. 

The banyan he’s draped over his shoulders catches on the frigid air, wind-wisps pulling it behind his bent canine limbs. He listens to the clapping of thin, rich fabric and wishes for a moment he had never discarded his other. It was acrid and foul but the years he’d put into it had never haunted him quite like this was now. This newly fashioned silk will serve as the point of no return – the tangible moment when hope had finally left the same way it had come: Ridden on a white horse. A girl, confused, lost, bravely seeking her father — and now, she’s become that still: a confused girl who bravely seeks to rescue her father from certain peril. 

Her life will change, of that Beast is certain. She’ll go on, marry, have a handful of babes born with swells of chestnut hair just like their mother. She’ll open or operate a local bookstore and sell the mirror off to a curious patron, for what purpose might she have in keeping it at all? And he, he will never know, for nary will he leave the ice prison he sits upon. 

He chuffs into the crisp nighttime air and wipes at his brow, “Master?” The reverie of depression is abated for the moment as he turns to behold Cogsworth, the head of his staff-turned-clock. “What is it?” 

“Perhaps you should come inside. It’s rather…freezing out tonight. Mrs. Potts already has a cup waiting for you, just, please, Master.” The little time-teller shuffles over and folds two false hands behind a spine that doesn’t truly exist. He waits in hope. 

“No. Go, there isn’t much time left.” 

“And what is to become of you, Master?” 

Beast lets his head descend; visions of a hushed and empty castle arise — one full of an endless row of motionless plates, saucers and stacked teacups. There is a line of cold ovens, unmade bedchambers, and gatherings of filth that will corrode every inch of what was once – and could have been – a beautiful home. There is to be nothing but this void and he, its sole occupant. He will feed on the ground animals when it gets to be too hard to stay away and he’ll drink melted snow for true sustenance. Rest will come in fits of exhaustion at the moment he meets the line between life and death. 

All of that will embrace him, but it is not the thing he fears the most. No, it’ll be the dreams; these euphoric reprieves that will corrupt him completely. Beast understands that now. Realizes that seeing her, even as a phantom mirage, will strip any tethers that keep him bound to his humanity. For when he wakes, he will do so on his own, time immemorial.

He knows could never have or hold her, sense a disassociation from her soul and all the goodness Belle had invited into his. 

“Nothing. I am to be nothing.” 

Cogsworth’s mechanical eyes droop, his arms stretching at length before thinking the better of it. “Goodbye, Mon Prince.” 

Beast does not acknowledge the words, for that hurt is one he is sure to visit at a later date. Losing Belle, losing all of them. He might as well pitch himself from this perch and be done with it. 

He hears Cogsworth startle a spell, hears an “oh!” mumbled somewhere beneath the gravelly tone of the servants breath. He doesn’t care to look, instead assumes the man-watch has stumbled – any misstep here would end him far sooner than this wretched curse. Better for him, Beast supposes. 

He leans over slightly and the high winds whip at his beard, twisting his mane in a knotty nest; closing away the world beneath, he inhales in the last of this night. He’ll return to the castle but not this place, for it would be all too easy to surrender to the call of peace and nothingness. To give up. 

He doesn’t deserve either, even Belle must believe that. Otherwise she wouldn’t have left without a proper farewell. But she did leave, _she did leave,_ and now he must grapple with the shattered pieces he’s left with. Anger seeps into his chest, drowning him by all the unsaid words he thought he’d have enough time to tell her. 

He roars into the horizon, forcing his claws to bend and break against the gray stone pressed under his paws. Until he doesn’t anymore. 

Beast’s chest is starved, heaving in and out as it prays for the relief of oxygen. Each limb shakes uncontrollably as droplets of blood drip from his fingertips. A line of spittle hangs from his bottom lip but he makes no effort to ease his pain or unsightliness. He moves, finally ready to go, for there is none more to be done here. 

He grips the shroud and covers his hideous face, hiding it away from the night so that its torment might cease. 

And then…there she is. “I thought you’d never leave from that spot. I remember when you roared like that at the wolf. It frightened me then as it frightens me now. But I know now why–“

He races to her, and almost falls in the process; his body is frozen and in mistreated agony, with sharp stabs of pressure and heat swelling from tip to toe. “You came back? You’re here? This is no game, no trickery? Please…please don’t…” 

Belle embraces Beast, giving to him her warmth and the feel of her body against him as living proof. “I’m here. Of course I came back. You…you didn’t believe I’d gone for good, did you?” 

He reaches out to her, making to touch the alabaster skin on her cheek. At the last moment he halts, staring at crimson-soaked finger pads; flinching he pulls away and exhales, “You shouldn’t have come back. There’s…nothing for you here, ma Belle.” 

She grasps his mangled fingers despite their state and places them flush to her face, in her hair and on her neck. His icy-blue eyes fight to focus and she grins, “May we go inside? I’m rather cold.” 

They complete the journey in connected silence — their bodies joined in one way or the other — and end on the West Wing’s balcony. 

“Let me tend to these wounds?” Belle shifts his hands so that they’re near to her eyes; he takes hold of hers then and pushes their embrace south, so that he might see _her._

“Belle, why did you come back?” 

“Because I found my father, was able to save him and explain the situation rationally. Gaston is still unconvinced but I had enough proof — what with me being alive — that he’ll be answering to the Head Master first thing in the morning. Why…why wouldn’t you believe me to return?” 

Beast’s lips pinch ever so, “Because you are free. What more could you possibly want in a place like this, with a thing like me?” 

She lays her head above his beating heart and closes her eyes, “I was free the moment I rescued _you_ on the night of the wolves. I returned because you and I are bonded in a way that cannot be explained. We are kindred spirits, a rarity and despite what your heart may say of me, the farther I travelled, the more I had come to realize the truth.”

Using each of his stained, marred hands, he pulls her from his chest and stares down, “What is your truth?” 

“That…I love you.” 

His eyes fill with tears – both from unbelieving and knowing all in the same. And then a light, brighter than any star, both golden and pure, envelopes him. 

Belle watches as the man she loves levitates, rising higher into the space before her as his body…changes. Fur falls away and dissipates, hind legs transition into human thighs and knees and feet. His large, broken-clawed hands are now a fine pair of gentlemen’s and she is…enchanted by incertitude. 

“What…what is…” 

She covers her mouth as he descends, his soul no longer wearing the exterior of a Beast-like man. His hair is a light brown and messy, frayed at the edges and all the more perfect for it. 

He looks over himself until eventually, this new man twists around to face her. Her brow pinches in at first, before she sees two of the bluest eyes. Familiar eyes. _His_ eyes.

“It’s…you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ..happy ending?! You know some heavy angst is on the wind now though. ;) 
> 
> Thank you forever for the kudos, comments, and every person who's taken a moment to read these past 24 (!!) chapters. 6 to go. x


	25. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince & Belle welcome a new addition. Adam reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future-Flufffffff. ;)

She’s cradled in his arms, all new skin and squishy rolls of perfection; there’s a scent to this tiny miracle, something so purely _her_ that Adam has already committed it to memory — one sure to last all the days of his life.

It’s nighttime and everything is at rest within the castle, but none of that matters right now. It could be any moment of any day and he’d still choose to be exactly here, in the quiet place that’s come from a melodic swaying with his newborn daughter. 

The little one — all rose-tinted cheeks, brown hair and blue eyes — squirms in his arms, her eyes peeking open to gaze at the world around her. He whispers poems of adoration and words of love and protection, seeing himself reflected in the purest of ways. 

Belle says she looks just like him, but he’s not found any evidence of this just yet. To Adam, Rayne Fleur Lemaître is his wife; emerging from her mother nine days ago, their newest blessing came into this world in the most predictable of ways. 

The urgency of labor began during their nightly meal: her, complaining of an ache deep in the small of her back as he sipped his soup nervously. Adam had done well to massage the tension but despite the attention, nothing seemed to bring his wife due relief. 

Mrs. Potts nodded in a knowing sort of way — she understood exactly what lain on the horizon hours before either Belle or Adam had. 

“Take care tonight. That baby is coming into this world sooner rather than later.” The pair smiled at her earnestness, apprehensively at first, as the reality of parenthood and the birthing process still loomed large in their minds. 

“Do you think she’s right, mon amour?” 

Adam laid beside her, hand draped across an impressively swollen belly. The kicks and movements never ceased to amaze him, his eyes ablaze whenever their child would acknowledge his presence. Which, of course, he believed was the direct cause of her flips and turns and twists. 

Belle would entertain these thoughts each and every time, stroking his unkempt hair whilst he admired his wife’s changing body. 

“I do. I’ve had a sneaking suspicion little madame or monsieur will be making their grand debut any minute now. And the pain in my lower back is…reaching an intolerable state.” 

It wasn’t long after that foresight that her water had broken. It wasn’t a grand splash that she’s read of time and again in books and motherly novels, no, it was more like a leaking. A slow, steady release of amniotic fluid indicating the end of pregnancy and the beginning of a new life. 

Adam had helped Belle onto her feet and cleansed her as best he could, then paced the entire night and early morning beside her. Every once in a while she would push her husband away and ask to be left to focus and breathe through the excruciating pain of contractions, and he would. But never went so far, just in case. 

Mrs. Potts came and went as the hours passed, serving Belle fresh glasses of water, hot towels and every pillow the castle could gather. Which turned out to be quite a few…hundred. She never laid atop them though, preferring instead to remain in a constant state of motion until she _had_ to start pushing. 

At one point, weariness had gained the upper hand, leaving Belle to question the things wholly out of her control — which was everything. 

“I’m afraid, Adam, what…what if something goes wrong? What if I did something in the pregnancy to harm our child and I don’t yet know it? How…what might we do?” 

Adam eased both arms around his wife then, the front of his body pressed to the rear of hers. He held her and the entire universe as his hands intertwined with hers at the base of her belly. “You are the woman who saved me from eternal damnation and death. _You_ are good and honest and everyday I’m thankful that your father raced through the courtyard gate. Thankful for you. And you _are_ a mother already, have been since the moment our son or daughter was created. Let my faith carry you through this last leg of the journey. Trust in me, as you always have, ma Belle.” 

He remembers the light and love in her eyes as she gazed up at him, tilting her head to gain a better view. The pain was still there but the meaning had been heightened, the fears abated. 

It was not long after this that Belle requested Mrs. Potts to return and assist with the birth — she felt it was time. And so, after forty-two minutes of laborious pushing, the housekeeper-turned-midwife delivered unto them a healthy, crying baby girl.

Adam smiles as he recalls the fine details of every second before and since Rayne was welcomed into their lives. From his days as a suffering Beast to an unexpected redemption, the new father swells with gratitude for each breath he’s taken since meeting Belle. 

This brand new life that sleeps so peacefully in his arms is all he’s every sought, all he’s ever wanted. Yet, it wasn’t until he embraced Belle – truly and completely in a form far different than the one he is now – that he understood this. 

The moonlight casts shades of gray-blue and pale white across his infants forehead and Adam touches the light as he touches her. She shifts around, impossibly small legs fighting at the linen wrap that keeps them together. He doesn’t want her to be anything but happy, ever, so he undoes the cloth and lets it hang down onto either side of her middle. 

“There you are, my tiny flower.” Rayne’s uncoordinated juts and kicks speak of her relief – even at nine days old, she’s developing a personality quite similar to her mother’s. The novels say that this isn’t quite yet possible, or probable, but Adam knows otherwise. Has known for a while now.

He runs a thumb along the soft slope of her nose and her cheeks pinch into a grin that he knows isn’t really a grin. It’s simply a reaction, but he adores it just the same. 

“You are the universe, ma Rayne. The stars, the planets, the moons — all of it and so much more.” 

Adam brings the child to his bare chest and begins to sway gently, one hand positioning her neck upright, the other lost to a light tapping on her bum. He kisses the sweet, warm patch of hair on her head and then turns, seeing Belle sat on the edge of their bed, staring at them affectionately. 

They don’t say much at the start, rather just look from one to next and back again, absorbing this scene for its unapologetic worth. Eventually Belle stands and walks to them; she rests a hand to the naked small of his back and the other, against the sleeping infants form. 

“We’re a family, now, Adam. We’re a _family,_ us three.” 

He leans over and angles her chin towards him. Brushing his lips softly to hers, the words that come next are stuttered but not broken, “Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for giving me this gift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first: apologies that this is so short and far too abridged for the subject matter – it's 4 am here but I wanted to post it up as per the normal schedule! I'll go back and edit a bit tomorrow, but if there's mistakes, please pay no mind! ;) 
> 
> Thank you for everything. Seriously. The kudos, comments – all of it is LIFE giving. x


	26. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast & Belle discuss the parameters of the enchanted mirror. They have a disagreement...can they work it out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible at chapter summaries, I've deduced this after 26+ of them! Anyway, this takes place after their snowball fight but sometime before the ballroom dance scene. A gratuitous expanded scene ;)

_“You’ll have this, too, so that you may call upon it to show the world — one that you are no longer welcomed to be in.”_

“She…she really said that to you?” 

Beast lowers his head in acknowledgment while tracing the ornate, jagged edges of his mystical mirror. “I was a bad man, Belle, vile and cruel and selfish. She saw that beneath my bones, there lain no heart; I cared naught for anyone, only their usefulness. She had every right to speak such truths.” 

Belle watches him as he absent-mindedly caresses the thing; Beast is lost to that time from the before, that night where his life upended and transformed. His eyes are glazed over, appearing far off, as though he suddenly forgot he wasn’t alone in his misery. 

The girl places a hand over his wrist and Beast startles, the mirror dropping a few inches. It clanks on the hard frozen marble beside the enchanted rose, breaking him from his reverie, “I’m sorry. What…what did you say?” 

Belle sighs and tightens her hold, “I didn’t say a word. I merely sought to bring you back to me, was all. Reliving that day over and over again cannot be sound nor safe for the mind and soul. Tell me honestly, have you used this but once since receiving it?” 

Blue eyes peer beyond her as he considers the question; it was straight to the heart but he knows what will come of it, should he answer truthfully. “Would you?” 

Her lip pulls to one side, “I…don’t know.” 

He suspected as much, but now his curiosity is running away on the tails of intrigue, “Tell me, what might you have done, if an unwelcome stranger tore your life asunder?” 

Belle releases his forearm and shifts to the opposite side of the rose; she doesn’t like this hypothetical situation, for she would never be _like_ he had once been. From everything he’s told her, which hasn’t been all that much, she couldn’t identify with such a self-absorbed life-style. 

“I…wouldn’t have been cursed.” 

He flounders at that, slipping away from the table for a moment as he works to gather his thoughts, “How are to you know what your life might have been in a place as dark and tormenting as this?” 

The tone is no longer one of ease or cordiality — he’s taken offense, unjustly, and it’s a surprise to her. “I thought you were asking me from a place of pure openness what I might do, should our roles be reversed. I know, as the woman standing in front of you, that I would never have to consider it fully, for it would not happen. Not as it did for you. I believed you to be repentant for your past…but you don’t sound it.” 

She exits his quarters after that, allowing space and distance to grow between them. She’s not afraid or necessarily mad at him, rather, she wants him to realize what he’s done on his own. 

Beast watches her go, following the patterned petticoats and stay as though it were his lifeline – and perhaps it is. He doesn’t call after her or chase, no, he’s far too unnerved for that. Despite his slight frustrations at her reticence to answer even a simple ‘what-if’ question, he knows the trouble lies solely within. 

It frightens him, the more time he spends pondering such an irrational reaction; for has he changed at all? Has he grown to understand the full extent of just how ugly his soul had once been? Or were these last ten years nothing more than practice for the remainder of his life. For how might a girl — one pure and innocent such as she — ever come to love a monster like him? 

He hangs his head and yanks on the auburn waves that slide down to hit at his cheeks; accepting it, he exhales — he knows what needs to be done. 

Laying the glass down, he sheds free of the torn, tattered banyan and hurries out of the palace room. He treks the candle-lit pathway towards the staircase slowly, but stops, turns, pauses and then resumes. He does this a handful until, “Oh, goodness, me. Are you coming to apologize or not?” 

Beast spins around and sees her there, sat just outside of his bedchambers door, “Have you been there the entire time, Belle?” 

She nods and rises, brushing away any dust and detritus from the unkempt floor that has taken to her. She doesn’t mind the cobwebs or flecks of everyday waste, but splintered wood and fractured glass tells of a far sinister story. Belle isn’t staggered by it, instead finds herself more saddened than anything else. 

She stands before him, merely inches apart and pokes at an impressive shoulder, “Well?” 

Beast kneels and takes both of her hands in his, “Belle, please forgive me. It seems my pride returned for a visit, thieving humility and replacing it with offense. I was wrong — I _know_ you’d have never crossed paths or lured a knowing witch your way. This was meant to happen to me, I deserved this. It’s…it’s on me.” 

She smiles and then drops down to her knees, a reflection of his own poise, “I only wanted you to understand. But this…that was so much more. No one could have deserved such a fate, I hope you will one day come to see this. But, thank you.” 

He eases back onto his hindquarters and rests there, still holding onto her hands, heart never desiring to let go. Eventually they do, and the air flees from him like a dying thing with nary a moment to live. 

“So, tell me. Have you ever used that cursed object?” 

Beast trains his gaze onto the wall beyond her, eyes doing well to avoid piercing gaze, “I have, once.” 

The girl’s head tilts in question, which was sufficient enough for him to continue on. “It was after I had…yelled at you through the suite. I fled to…here…and asked it to show me you. You were on the floor, gazing up at the entrance handles nervously, before lying your head on both arms. Arms that wrapped around curled legs. You looked afraid and sad and it…Belle, I’m-“ 

She halts him by standing and quickly pacing around, “You mean to tell me that in all the long years you’ve had that mirror, you used it _one_ time. And it was…to see me?” 

He makes to go upright but she places a palm on his shoulder, “No, stay there, please.” He acquiesces and folds each hand into the other on his lap, “Mmmm.” 

“Why…why me? Didn’t you ever once long to see the world — the mountains, the oceans, the people in cities near and far? Caves, beaches, market squares and…oh, I could go on and on. Why choose me?” 

Beast rises, blatantly ignoring here earlier request; he ceases her pacing with a light grip to each bicep, “Belle, I’ve seen great big rocks and the bluest oceans. I’ve slept on beaches and sleuthed my way through a fair share of markets. But I’ve…never seen you. Least not without you being able to look upon me.” 

Belle languishes at his admittance, the sincerity to his heartfelt emotions evident. She doesn’t fight or stave off the swell that surges inside: shaking his limbs from her, she steps forward once, twice, until she presses herself to his chest. Her head lays near his heart, arms wrapped up his back versus around it. 

“Thank you. In a daily life surrounded by Gaston’s, you’re something else entirely, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t answer, just exists in this very moment. He’s used the mirror once and now, he might never have to again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP ONLY 4 LEFT TO GO AFTER THIS. 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you. Everyone who left a kudo, a comment, a Tumblr post, a view – anything, I'm indebted to you for life. x


	27. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the dance, Belle thinks of Beast and those blue eyes of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit smushy and rushed, but...Dan's blues and I make no apologies.

_”Everything is so beautiful here, with you. Would you like to have a dance with me tonight? In the ceremonial ballroom?”_

“Blue like his eyes, blue like the sea. Madame, I cannot help myself – whenever he speaks directly to me, I am lost. Adrift in an ocean of cerulean skies and I fear…what is happening to me?”

The large armoire shuffles to the frenzied girl as she lays atop her mattress. Belle is shrouding her face with both hands, feet kicking out and back in utter torment. “Ah, ma chérie, he is quite charming when he wants to be, and it seems he wants that all the time now because of you. I suspect you’ve come to realize this, haven’t you?” 

Belle nods from behind her hidden face, legs bouncing themselves to a full stop, “But…was he ever so impossible as to warrant the curse that’s seized this castle? I need to understand why he is the way he is. And having little to no answer makes looking into those eyes of his all the more challenging!” 

Madame laughs at that and pats Belle’s shoulder, “It’s alright to like him as he is, and not as he was or may be. I wonder, what do you think of when you _see_ him?” 

Belle rises at the posed question and begins to pace laps about the room. She lets her head fall back onto her neck; staring at the ornate gold decor that hangs from the ceiling, she admires how it stretches across the entire room as though it _wanted_ to do just that. “This is intricate and absolutely beautiful…I don’t know if I’ve ever even dreamed of such opulence, let alone seen it so close.” 

De Garderobe taps the wooden bed post determinedly, which serves to return Belle once more into their conversation, “Oh, yes, right. I…I think a lot of things. I think of how he imprisoned my father, screamed at me through a door – that door right there – and then sacrificed himself to save my life. I read to him yesterday in the courtyard, on a bridge. He appeared as though he were looking at the world around him for the very first time. Actually, he looked at me as though I _were_ the entire world. And…I quite enjoyed that. It became slightly awkward afterwards though.” 

“And?” Madame pushes on in a most subtle manner, fearful to force a revelation far too soon. “And I don’t know if that’s right or not. It feels right, like I should be here, now, with him. As though every star in the night sky aligned to ensure that he and I might come to meet. But that feels like a great deal of pressure, no?” 

The cabinet comes a little closer to where Belle is stood, and it tilts her chin with two solid, gold leaf-hands, “He invited you to dance this evening, yes? Then dance you shall. Ma Belle, if you were meant to be here, then that implies all of this was meant to be as well — me as a wardrobe, you as an uninvited guest turned favored guest. Or even, perhaps, liking a man who’s wearing the body of a beast. Is that wrong then? Can any of this _be_ wrong if it’s been written above?” 

Belle leans into the kind, motherly gesture, absorbing her knowing wisdom before momentarily tuning out every surrounding sound. But then he’s there — two icy-blues that watch her as she watches him. She comes back to herself – again – and runs a hand through unmade hair, “It was him and that gaze again, wasn’t it?” 

Belle nods, and de Garderobe chortles, “Oh, honey, that’s nothing new. The Prince was devilishly skilled with those, so often that I once called them a dangerous weapon to all women.” 

Belle raises a brow at that but lifts her shoulders in resignation, “I have no doubt. Now, what should I wear tonight? I believe an invite to dance begs for something a bit more than my well-loved petticoats? At least I hope?” 

After a few harried hours of washing and sizing up and a few last minute stitches, Belle is finally ready for the evening. She doesn’t leave straight away, instead, takes a few seconds to wonder what he might wear, or what his hair may look like. After a bit Belle decides it’s no crime to ask of such things, “Madame, do you have any insight into what he may be wearing? I’m…well, I’m deeply curious.” 

The armoire smiles as she looks the girl over one final time, “Oh, ma chérie, of course I know exactly what mon Prince will be adorned in. But I won’t be the one responsible for ruining the surprise. Now go, run along. I don’t want you late to your own party!”

——

Belle descends the staircase, taking the cracked stone steps slowly so as to not mar or crush any small measure of fabric on the gown. It’s yellow with magical designs of gold; there are diamond accents, too, and it is the single most beautiful piece of clothing she’s ever worn. Belle breathes in the chilled air and looks herself over one last time. This moment is one she has fallen so far into but she longs so much for it to remain — well, for as long as it’s able to.

But then just as quietly, and without any fanfare, he’s there, stood directly across from her. He’s dressed in a blue suit – complete with breeches, gilet, cravat and a long coat; Belle is immediately taken aback, for he looks utterly, completely handsome. And…so very pleased to see her; Belle glimpses this truth within those magnetic ocean-blues and it steals her breath. 

She wants to run to him, to run and be held by him as they dance and sway into the night, for this is why she has come. Why she is here. But patience and resolve are needed now more than ever. They have come a long way, but there is still a far journey left to go.

They mirror one another walking the remaining stairs alone, ending on the grand platform side by side. He sets off first and she reaches for him — and then they are together, walking as one towards the rest of their lives. 

Once inside the ballroom, she can’t break her gaze from off of this person; Belle stares affectionately as he looks around, taking in the redecorated and freshened appearance of the room. It’s sublime but she doesn’t pay any mind to that. 

She only sees a man with the sky and all the oceans inside of him, looking back at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is actually the second take on the blue prompt – wrote another entire fic completely and then started over because sometimes prompts fight you the whole way. I'm slightly delirious so I hope this one isn't total nonsense! 
> 
> Thank you, always, always, for the kudos, comments, pop-ins – all of it! You're all the best of the best.


	28. Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Adam & Belle are secret friends – he teaches her archery and she teaches him love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU for sure, but...the end hints at a very BATB typical storyline. Oh and Belle is NOT a servant in this, but still a girl from the village.

He wasn't supposed to teach her how to hunt the estate grounds. It was also forbidden to show the girl any of the more intricate mechanics or fine details laden onto his favorite bow. Nor was she permitted to approach or address the Prince without proper protocol or etiquette involved. But right from the start, that was never their way; instead they crafted an every-other-day forest meet and greet, where said boy and girl first learned true companionship. 

Prince Adam and the village girl, Belle, had stumbled upon one another by chance; he, floundering in the woods after a deeply unsettling disagreement with his father, and her, so full up on wanderlust that he fully expected her to take flight at any given moment. 

This miracle of course never happened, but their friendship had, and it grew as days turned to months, before eventually years had passed. In the time they have spent together, there was plenty to do: from learning to sharing novels and dreams, each one always showed up excited to be with the other.

On top of that, they dedicated a healthy amount of time to her learning all about advancement in target practice.

So it was no surprise that Belle had gotten quite adept at using Adam’s bow and arrow, earning talent and marksmanship skills equal to that of his own. He would often joke that he taught her everything he had learned as an apprentice…except one thing. And pry as she might, he never disclosed what that last lesson was. 

It wasn’t long before the village girl suspected he was being humorously dishonest with her, and Belle wasn’t afraid to proclaim as such, “I don’t actually believe there _is_ anything you’ve yet to educate me on, in regards to archery anyway. In fact, I’m going to call your bluff, Prince Adam Lemaître — I, Belle Marchand of Villeneuve, challenge you to a competition at the highest realm.” 

Adam scratched a finger to his temple before running the hand through his hair a length; biting on his bottom lip, he studied her fierce repose – she was serious. In that friendly-competitive sort of way. 

“Right now then, yes?” Belle nodded vehemently and he shrugged both shoulders, “Fair enough, ma Belle. But don’t be too disheartened when you’re made to repent for this doubtful position you’ve adopted of me. It hurts that you believe I’ve been untruthful!” 

She presses a palm flat to his chest and pushes. Adam pretends to fall back, grasping his heart in false agony. She laughs and shifts her stance to a more prepared state, “Come on, _Master_ Lemaître, show us what you’re made of. Or are you…afraid of a small town girl?” 

Two blue eyes squint and he moves in close to her, face a mere inch or so away, “Are you teasing me? Is that what you’re doing here? It won’t work, at least not to the benefit that you’re expecting.” 

She chuffs and raises her brow line in wonderment, “Oh, and what pray tell is that which will not work?” 

He stretches his arms and hands, wiggling all ten fingers, shaking them abruptly to work the muscles appropriately. He wants to be fully sure that everything is more than ready to undertake Belle’s proposed duel. “You, attempting to get into my head but, see, my resolve is sound. I’ll not be swayed by chatter or implied self-flattery.” 

Sending a lighthearted slap to the rear of his elbow, she rolls both eyes while moving a few paces to his left. The subject they were working with — a group of birch trees stood parallel to one another — would serve as the perfect target. He would shoot first, then handoff the bow for her turn. 

He stops just then and looks at her, “Best of three?” Belle purses her lips and winks causing Adam to glance away immediately. She does odd, adorable things like that and it makes him feel slightly guilty for the growing emotions he’s been fussing over lately.

For no longer is he, nor she, the youths they once were — all hopeful and certain that the future would provide each of them exactly what they sought. Adam has long come to understand that he’s playing a dangerous game in his friendliness with the village girl, but he never saw her as that. She was Belle, his best friend, confidant and forest partner. The one who made him laugh, or read books to or even rode the occasional stallion alongside. He never brought her pity or snobbery — she didn’t deserve that. She was jus-

“Are you going to shoot or not?” 

He swallows, allowing the secretive tremor to run the length of his spine; bringing his sight to the proper eye, he lines up his tree and focuses. Testing the tension in the bowstring, he breathes out, closes his left eye and looses the arrow. It soars, cutting through wind as though it were nary a thought. 

It hits its mark, albeit off-center by half an inch, and even from where they stand, he knows she’s seen it. She’ll run to check eventually – he loves when she splits hairs like that — but for now, it’s her move. 

She grins and tilts her chin up, “If I take the bullseye, it’s competition complete. No best of three, Sir Scaredy-Cat.” 

The Prince laughs and delivers a false bow, knowing already that she will assuredly outdo him. He’s standing to her rear, peering over a shoulder when the thought comes; walking up behind, he leans against her back and whispers, “Be a shame if you missed the shot.” 

Belle angles her head to look back and north at him, and still, the projectile soars through the air, “Oh, I didn’t.” 

Folding both hands at the base of his spine, he smiles widely, “And you’re so certain how?” 

She starts running towards the white and black tree-line, running and yet still facing him. Belle doesn’t answer him straight away, instead he begins to chase after, his curiosity gnawing at whether or not she’s bested him. 

They arrive and sure as the rising sun, Belle’s made the shot. Centered so directly and fired with such force that the arrowhead is now partially exposed on the backend of the bark — a near through and through. 

She doesn’t gloat or celebrate _too_ much at first, opting to return Adam’s bow while offering an impressed smile, “I knew I’d made the shot because _you_ are my teacher.” 

He exhales at that and then lets his head drop, doing his best to avoid her eyes. Neither exchange words for a few seconds before Belle reaches for Adam’s pocket blade. It’s attached to a strip of leather at the base of his quiver case, “Come here, I want to carve our names on this tree so that time never forgets who won this battle.” 

He laughs and follows along with the endearing plan, and when she’s finished, Adam does his very best to etch an A by her B. “There, now we’ll always know which tree was ours.” 

Their shoulders are touching as the words slip from Belle’s lips. He looks down at her, sky-blues blinking in anticipation but both are altogether silent. Until she decides that now is as good a time as any. 

Belle lifts herself high onto the tips of her toes and hastily brushes her lips to his. A hand goes to cradle his jaw and touch the smooth, unkempt strays of hair that have fallen onto his ear. He closes the world away then, reveling in the feel of this girl — _his_ girl — kissing him. He’s about to return her embrace when the entire world is upended and ceases to spin any longer.

“Just what in the name of King Louis is going on here?” The booming voice tears them apart, frightening her and startling him as it echoes. It’s the elder Prince — Adam’s father. And he’s just caught them in the midst of a very intimate, very illegal moment. He points an aged, thickened finger in her direction, each and every word seething through clenched teeth, “You filthy townsfolk, tainting my son! Bewitching him with the space between your legs—How **dare** you?!” 

Prince Baron rushes towards the pair but Adam stands in the way, unflinchingly protecting Belle from the wrath that lives within his father. “Just go, please. Run. _Now._ ” 

She hides away from the unfolding scene, and the pads of her fingers press to her mouth as though it had been scorned by fire, “I…I’m sorry, your majesty, I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…Please, I beg your pardon!” 

“Belle, **you must go, no time to waste.** ” He turns to look at her and there’s a desperation she’s never glimpsed before, “What will become of you?” 

An exasperated sigh bleeds from his throat as his head tilts, a whispering voice murmuring that this may very well be the last time he sees her. If she’s smart, she will make it so. “I’ll be fine. Go, go now before it’s too late.” Adam reaches out and grips her hand, deconstructing her tightened fist; he places the blade they’ve only just shared safely into her palm. Belle grasps the knife and his fingers all in the same, shaking her head — she doesn’t want to leave him this way. 

He nods and then gazes beyond her, mouthing the words, “It’ll be okay.” 

Offering one final glance, she steals herself, taking the proffered gift and a shattered heart along with her. She makes it through the tree line and a dozen or so rows of growth before looking back: Baron has reached his son and his hands are wrapped tight to Adam’s arms — the man’s face appearing as red as the setting sun. Belle wonders if she should return, use the blade to protect her one and true friend. 

A voice within tells her that this is not the way to save him, that the danger of this challenge is but one in a long line of many. And yet, she can’t help but fear for his future — both immediate and not so. Will he be alright? Will he pay the price for her irrational decisions? Will they ever see one another again? 

Belle forces her legs to race faster, harder, realizing slowly that the greater the distance she can afford him, the better his chances become. For she remembers the stories told of Adam’s father — from him as well as local villagers. Baron was of the cruel, violent sort — a fear-mongering, utterly intolerable man. 

But she had never witnessed it firsthand, and now that she has, it was deeply disturbing. She wasn’t certain how her friend survived the years under such a hateful parent and yet, Adam had flourished. Belle wants to go back, but not just to what’s happened, rather to all that’s come prior. To listen to him more, to ask questions and understand his life inside of the castle walls. 

She feels utterly useless the farther her journey takes her, useless and hopeless. Surely he’ll never want to see her again, of that she most positive of already. Because she left him…she _left._ Eventually she breaks through the forest’s edge and takes the trails that will ultimately lead her home. 

Belle worries all evening and well into the early morning if he is alright. Heart aching to know if he will refuse her, should she show up the day after next. 

Adam will succumb to the torment this evening, accepting every punishment and curled fist one after the next, knowing he did right by her. But as the bruises rise and the blood drips, he thinks on whether or not Belle is to remain far from this place, from their forest. From him. 

He’s sympathetic to the notion, so long as she pays no price for the years of affection she’s imbued him with. He will miss her for a great long while, but if she’s safe, that’s all he needs to get by on. 

For one day his father will pass and then there would be nothing left to keep him from searching for her…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 more after this? WHAT IN THE. June flew by, didn't it? It's 2018 by now, right? ;) 
> 
> Thank. You. For. Everything. My author's heart is soaring. x


	29. Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast dies in Belle's arms but before he comes back...he goes somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of this as the time in between Beast's death and the Enchantresses resurrection of him! 
> 
> Listened to "Farthest Seas" by Tony Anderson as I wrote this, just in case you wanted a soundtrack to go along with it.

He goes somewhere after saying a hasty goodbye, somewhere that’s not _quite_ there, beside her, any longer. But it is a another place indeed — that next place, he supposes. The one where time and space are no more required than the nourishing, sweet taste of food or the breath of fresh air. 

Beast knows he’s died, has succumbed to Gaston’s inflictions while in the arms of his salvation. She held to him right up until the moment his sight had gone, grasping his hand as his heart beat its last. Belle looked so dreadfully morose — perhaps she had loved after all this time? Adam, or whomever the soul claims to be now, will never know the truth to that woman’s heart, any more than he might see rising tides on a ocean, or the setting sun. For his hour has passed upon that earthly plateau and now…now he is elsewhere.

But in this new place — whatever _this_ is — nothing is as he expected it to be. He doesn’t feel alone despite the fact that he is completely, utterly on his own; more isolated than he ever was as a cursed man imprisoned within a monstrous shell. And yet.

Here there are rolling hills and soaring, jagged mountains, each surrounded by fields of endless sunlit grass that stretches before him. Adam looks about and sniffs the air from habit, but there is nothing on the wind — no signs of life of any kind nearby. He swallows as he takes his first steps, and hesitantly, goes in the direction his instinct demands of him.

He glides amidst tall reeds of wheatgrass, using his hands — _human hands_ — to brush against the coarse straw, bending them, feeling them. Adam realizes he can still feel here…his nerve endings somehow intact, no matter that his body is merely a replicate of its former self. 

Just up ahead he glimpses a flash of chestnut brown and shimmering white. He races to the mirage, unsure as to whether or not it’s real or just an imagination in this afterworld. His messed sandy hair whips behind his head, the wind picking up as it runs alongside him, keeping time on his heels. He laughs then, because he can _feel_ time, as though it were a thing one might touch and mold to their will. 

Adam doesn’t try to do either, he simply enjoys the newness of this experience and continues on, strong legs carrying him farther away from whence he came. He’s so near to the siren that sings to him now, and it is a song that feels a lot like home. 

_His_ song. 

He arrives and steals a look back at the path he had cut through the wide, expansive field; the stalks appearing ghost-like, as though they were swaying beneath the weight of water. 

“Will you come join us, daddy?” 

The once Prince stills at the tiny voice that speaks out, wanting so desperately to be heard by him; looking to his south, he finds a blue-eyed wee girl standing there, noting that she’s of a tender age. Possibly two years or so. She stares and twirls, grinning that same lopsided smile he’s seen on himself; she reaches a hand up in the hope that he might take it, then, “Well, daddy?” 

He kneels down onto the painted floor of his heaven and touches the soft cheek of such a curious child, “And where are we to go, ma fille?” 

She giggles at him and then whirls around to point at another, one who is standing just beyond their vantage point, “To mother, of course! She’s waiting for you. I am, too, daddy.” 

Adam peeks beyond the toddler and sees _her_ there — all wavy brown hair twisting in the blowing wind, loose strands caught in her lips, shrouding two rose-colored cheeks he’s come to know so well. 

“Then go to her we shall.” He knows with every piece of himself that this child is to be and somewhere in the great depths of his soul, has always known it. And yet, here she is… _after_ he’s left the living world. 

He lifts the girl and wraps her closely to his right side; she clings to him, her short arms trying, and failing, to create a connection around his neck. “I wonder how long mommy has been waiting for us. Do you know, little one?”

“Oh, mommy’s been there all along. Don’t you remember?” 

Adam shakes his head and then they begin to sprint, just as fast as he had the first time. The field blurs into brilliant shades of yellow, orange and green, but he doesn’t care for that right now. He’s entranced by the laughter and sheer glee that emanates from the tiny one in his arms. Those familiar ceruleans blues are shut as windswept hair sticks to all the parts of her face. 

Until finally, they arrive. 

The child kicks kindly at his hip to be let down, and so he does, albeit hesitantly. Having her in his care is a wholeness he has never known. He hopes she might return to him like that, if he is to stay here. If they are to stay here, with him. 

“Took you long enough.” 

He brings his gaze upwards at the well-known tone of _her_ voice and every part of him longs to fall to the ground. For nothing in any lifetime could have prepared Adam for this precise moment. 

It’s Belle, adorned in a half-sheer shift, feet bare and belly swollen, with an otherworldly luminosity pouring off of her. She smoothes both of her palms over her growing midsection and peers up from between fine strands of chestnut, “You were too far from us. We have been longing to find you here.” 

He steps before Belle slowly, stretching a single hand towards her light; Adam longs to touch the woman that rescued him, even though he _knows_ that he’s left her behind, on the mortal plane. That this cannot be real. 

“I’d always find you, in any form, in any world.” His girl smiles with her eyes as she gracefully accepts his hand, “I know it. _I know it._ Now come here and kiss me while Rayne isn’t paying any mind.” 

Adam is there, his body pressed to hers, “Rayne?” 

Belle nods, “You’ll understand, eventually.” 

He pauses to observe the open land and watch his daughter as she dances amongst the golden grass, “But how?” 

Belle molds her fingers onto the back of his neck, pulling him to her. She whispers against his lips and at first they are words he cannot hear. She kisses him softly, meaningfully, then repeats herself…

_“Come back, please don’t leave me…_

_I love you.”_

He breaks from their embrace and exhales a shaky breath, his heart and soul set ablaze by her truth.

But then she altogether starts to fade, disintegrating one glimmer of radiance at a time. Adam panics, trying to hold onto her but she’s already gone. He runs into the field where he last recalls his little one, just in time to catch the last fleeting shape of his child before she too dissipates. 

“No—please!” 

He cries out in confusion but just as his love and his life had, the Prince sees himself coming undone, one molecule at a time. He’s not entirely certain as to how he understands the workings of this, opting to he quiet his whirlwind in an effort to trust the process. Trust that wherever Belle and Rayne have gone, perhaps he will soon follow. 

It seems to span eons for his transformation, ending in a blinding twist of glowing light and red petals. It feels warm… _feels_ like what it used to. 

And then he’s reimagined, staring down at two human hands and a body he hasn’t seen in far too long a time. The confusion turns to knowing and he wastes not a moment more before shifting his body in a semi-circle. He knows exactly who will be there, waiting on him. 

Belle. 

Neither say anything, as words are useless in times of such heightened emotion. Their reunion lasts long, before both can no longer survive without air; this embrace is the first in this life and he knows now that it’s everything heaven had been and yet still so much more. 

Eventually they pull apart but never away, and as their foreheads settle onto one another, she is the first to break their reverie.

“You came back.” 

“You asked me to.” 

Adam tilts his head in question but remains silent, admitting to nothing more. Time will share all that he had seen in that next place, but in the meantime, he never will stop chasing after it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt basically wrote itself. I had a completely different idea in mind – and AU actually – but when I sat down to write, THIS happened. Would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on this one – and appreciate it ahead of time! 
> 
> AND TOMORROW IS THE LAST PROMPT. Wow. Kind of sad, actually!
> 
> Forever and always, THANK YOU for everything. Every kudo, comment, view...everything. x


	30. Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU – Prince Adam sneaks off to the village in search of more... and it's there he finds a mysterious girl who refuses to share her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. Day 30. We've arrived! 30 whole days of Beauty and the Beast. Of Prince Adam and Beast and Belle. Of servants, both human and not, and of good times and some that were downright awful. 
> 
> This one is different...intentionally so. I hope you enjoy, just as I have hoped for you through each and every chapter before this.

The Prince does his best to keep peace at the castle. Not between his servants and he, as they’ve been well acquainted for some time now, but rather in respects to his embittered wife, Jezebel, and their loveless marriage.

Their union was an arranged one, as are all relations, per the royal customs and centuries-old protocols. Adam has not once harbored any love for his spouse, just as Jezebel feels nothing but a mild contempt for him. Their life as a couple was a political farce and every person in their inner circle had been painfully aware of this from its initiation. 

The first year or so was of a tolerable sort, with evenings scheduled ahead of time where they would then share a bed and an embrace in the hopes of furthering his bloodline. But a babe was soon found to be most elusive, becoming more and more like a far off, intangible plan as the months passed by. Doctors assured the Prince and his Princess that their health had no baring on such a delayed affair — it all came down to timing. 

But now, these days Adam found himself utterly bored with the woman — despite her wealth, royal benefits and regal connections, he sought to break free from their status as husband and wife. At its simplest definition: the Prince longed for _more._ He always believed a child would be the true salvation, as life beneath the elder Prince had learned him everything he should never do to an offspring of his own. 

Some nights he would pray to be gifted with a son or daughter, so that he might fulfill the promise to his mother of being a good, strong man to his child. And yet, their attempts failed one after the next. 

It wasn’t long until Adam began to find his thoughts drifting to the mischief of his youth; as a boy he would visit locals in their booming taverns and warm lounges, wasting time chatting up girls while besting men in any challenge they presented. Eventually he had been caught by his father and forbidden to return, for what might happen should his true identity ever be discovered? 

Prince Baron, the former royal’s cruel, hateful patriarch, once did his best to instill fear and superiority in him, but Adam hadn’t forgotten those village excursions. And now, in these days of monotonous weary, and with his father long gone, he was beginning to reconsider just how much sleuthing could do to his everyday life. Perhaps even enough to return him to a more manageable level of existence. 

So, he did just that. 

After waiting for the Autumn sundown, the Prince dressed in a set of borrowed commoner clothing and then retrieved his most favored stallion — Desjardins. He entered and exited the stables quietly, tipping his tricorn hat towards Mr. Potts in a knowing sort of fashion. He trusted the older keeper to hold fast to his secrets, just as he always did when he was younger. 

“Been a while since you’ve done this, Master. You be mindful of the townsfolk while you’re away.” 

Adam smiled and clapped a hand over the elder Potts’ shoulder, “Always good, man, always. I’ll be back well before dawn.” 

He rode hard and fast into the nighttime air, knowing the pathway to Villeneuve like one might know the their own reflection. They soared past dying trees and glimmering predatory eyes; Desja pushed his speed to the brink and beyond, shortening the Prince’s trip by nearly a quarter of an hour. “Good boy, D, good booooy.” 

Once in town, he boarded the horse for a single livre and then headed onwards in the direction of heavy noise. A cacophony of sound escaped from Gaston’s Tavern ahead and so Adam followed the call, pulling his well-worn coat high around his neck. It wouldn’t be unlike drifters to come and go, and so he worried not of a crowd’s response to his entrance. 

As of the current date, he never once visited Villeneuve as their Prince, so he suspected a disguise wouldn’t matter either way. Better to be safe than sorry though, and the echoing of his father’s judgmental condemnations were not easily disregarded. He knew what could happen, if they did indeed discover who he was, so he took every measure to ensure that didn’t happen. 

Besides, it was most likely for just one night. 

Adam took a seat within the farthest booth in the back of the pub, his hair mussed and wild from both the ride and the cap. “What’ll you be having tonight?” He looked up, startled to see a barmaid there so soon. Last time he was in a local’s establishment, he practically had to beg for service. Not that her being here bothered him any. She was a tall, voluptuous woman with hair as deep as the fiery sun. 

“Oh, well, uh…anything really. A red preferably.” 

He nearly went on to request a prized or kept brand of bottle before he realized that they would not have such luxuries in a place like this. And that such an ask might come across suspicious to the more inquisitive of minds. 

A disheartened sigh and then, “Red it is.” 

He offers the barmaid a waning smile before she stalks off, but she doesn’t return the favor. He slouches a bit – uncertain already as to whether or not coming here was a good choice. 

“A red for you, was it? How original…” Adam tilts his head to see the owner of such a condescending remark and his breath hitches: it’s a petite girl, lithe and clean and kept. Her eyes were as dark as night with pools of chestnut hair to match. It was brushed and spun into a messy half-bun somewhere behind her head.

“Well, what’s wrong with a traditional red?” She grimaces and rolls her eyes, placing the goblet onto the wooden table in front of him. “For starters, _everyone_ orders a red. We’ve plenty of whites, too, and some are light and sweet. Others quite bitter and dry, but delicious nonetheless.” 

He tosses a pair of gold livres onto the top and points to them, “And just how many reds or whites will those two see me?” 

She slides one coin off of the other and then grins, “Enough for you and another to have a warm Fall night, is how much.” 

He leans forwards and pushes the money closer, “Why ‘another?’ Are you not free to join me? And what’s your name, you’ve not said it…” 

She accepts the payment and slips each piece into the small pocket at the base of her apron, “I don’t believe you’ve shared your name either, Monsieur. And no, I cannot sit and share a drink, as it should be fairly clear that I’m working a shift at current.” 

Adam nods and bites on his bottom lip, “I’m Adam. Now you know my name, am I fortunate enough to have yours?” 

She exhales a small laugh before shrugging a shoulder, “Only if you come back another evening, perhaps one where I’m relieved of duty earlier on. I’ll see to those wines, now.” 

He stays for a few hours that first night, returning as promised at a quarter after one. But his heart is already humming praises to itself at the memory of this phantom, as-yet named woman. She provided him with hours of conversation, albeit broken up over time, due to her chaotic table waiting. But it was enough for Adam to know that he would return, whenever he could for as long as he could. 

“Sir Adam, good to see you. I trust you had a lovely evening?” Mr. Potts gladly accepts Desjardins’ reigns, guiding the horse to its stall where he will strip the saddle and gear from off of him and prepare the steed for an early morning respite. 

“The loveliest, I’ll tell you. Thank you. And good morning to you.” He changes swiftly into more suitable attire before entering the castle through the rear service corridor. He snaps his fingers together in distracted happiness as he sets off towards his bedchambers, eager for a wash and long, nightly nap. 

“Where did you run off after dinner, Mon Prince? I expected you as per the physician’s calendar.” Adam cringes at the tone to Jezebel’s voice; for such a beautiful woman, her disposition is akin to that of an aging grandmother’s. He steps around to meet her accusing eyes, “I must have forgotten, darling. And now I’m in desperate need of a bath and sleep. Some other time.” 

“Perhaps I should join you? It is still the appropriate timing, despite your tardiness.” 

Adam swallows his annoyance, but then a flash of the tavern’s brown-eyed girl comes to his mind; his body responds with an excitement he knows his wife will misunderstand, so he shakes free for the time being and turns away. “Not now, Jez.” 

He moves along hastily, ignoring her pestering pleas for him to rethink such a foolish decision – if nothing else, it _is_ still sex. He cares not for this on today’s morning, and though his wants have never been for the wife he was forced to take, now he longs only for the barmaid he’s just met. Though something tells him she won’t be so easy to bed. He likes that.

She’s not like any other girl he’s ever met.

——

Adam returns to the pub regularly over the course of a six month period, each time ensuring that she will be there – this beauty with no name. They banter now, back and forth with ease and an air of comfort that he’s not experienced with anyone else. She has become his outlet, despite how dangerous his visits are after all this time.

For she suspects nothing, knows not a hint of who he truly is, and it’s…refreshing for the Prince. He’s a commoner like her, unashamed of his appearance, how he talks or presents himself, for that is just how things are in such places like Villeneuve. People are genuine and what you see is what you get. 

But it’s even more when it comes to her. She’s unnervingly gorgeous and he’s attempted to tell this mystery woman such things, but she ignores him, pretending to race off for another bowl of watery porridge or goblet of white wine. 

“I think tonight is the night, ma chérie.” He brushes both hands through his hair and then places his back flush against toughened carpenters-wood. “Oh, and what might tonight be the night of, Adam?” 

He loves the way she speaks his name, as though it were lyrics to a song only the two of them can hear. “The evening where you, Miss She Who Will Not Share Her Name, will eventually share it with me.” 

She falls into the seat opposite him and a glint of mischief is immediately adopted within her eyes, “Oh, and why would I do such a thing like that? It’s been rather entertaining watching you flounder like a guppy.” 

“Belle?” 

Gaston, the pub’s namesake and town hero, approaches the pair then, instantly placing a hand atop one of her shoulders, “I’ve been meaning to meet this new friend of yours, Belle. LeFou tells me he’s been visiting ev’ry once and again for the last few…well, however long since I’ve been out of town. But who’s counting, right LeFou?” Gaston doesn’t look away, instead trains his focus solely and completely onto Adam. There’s a feral look to his gaze and Adam glimpses it straight away. 

The man knows this, just as the Prince does, but neither are willing to offer much space. “Ahh, Belle is it? Nice to meet you, Belle. I’m Adam, as you know.” 

The once-heir goes on to ignore Gaston completely, returning his full attention back to the girl sat ahead of him. She’s gone motionless, similar to the solidity of stone; Gaston’s hand lingers still, with no signs of easing up. 

“And you are, Monsieur Adam?” 

“A patron at this tavern, enjoying a _private_ conversation with my friend. May we help you with something?” 

Gaston lets his head fall as Adam’s words settle in hard and fast; he releases his hold onto Belle and nods, walking past their table to resume his poise beside the fireplace. Next to the strange little round man who’s stared at them far too many times since he’s been coming to this place. 

“I’m sorry about that one. He’s dreadfully intolerable. Everyone in town thinks he’s this fantastic man’s-man, but _bleh,_ not me.” 

Adam chortles at that and then leans in to whisper, “Are you alright? He’s not ever hurt you…or anything?” 

Belle’s lip pulls up affectionately, “No, just an overbearing annoyance more than anything. Always trying to marry me. It’s unsettling sometimes, but he’d never get my father’s blessing or mine, so I really have nothing much to worry over.” 

Adam shifts back to see the brutish bloke sitting by his loyal followers and the look that greets him is pure disdain. “Seems like a nice fellow, I bet.” 

Belle snorts and pinches her nose in distaste, “The nicest, really.” 

Adam laughs and then rests his spine against the hardened seat-back, “Anyway, I told you tonight was going to be the night! So, Belle it is, then? That’s more than a little suitable for someone like you…”

The girl purses her lips and then rises, beginning to collect his used goblets and dishes, “Oh? Someone like me?” He stops the tidying up by taking her fingers and pressing his lips to their knuckles, “Beautiful.” 

Try as she may, Adam sees the girl fight a blush that paints her features with the most endearing shade of pink, “Has no one ever told you this?” 

Belle removes her hand gently and exhales, “You’re just a wee bit drunk, Adam. But thank you.” 

And it wasn’t a lie — he was inebriated, but he wasn’t delivering non-truths either. “A man can be under the influence and yet not wrong, I’ll have you know.” 

“Oh, I think I’m far more familiar with drunk men than you, my friend.” He grins and she walks off; it’s then that he watches Gaston watching him, watch her the entire time. 

Adam decides that he will remain until the breaking light of day if he must. He needs to see her home after the tense introduction with Gaston, as something about that whole charade doesn’t bode well with him. Though he’s not certain what exactly it is, he’s not in the mind to risk anything. Especially if it involves the girl he’s slowly fallen for over the last half year.

——

It’s nearly four in the morning and the pub is finally urging its patrons to head home, or to wherever they find themselves next, so long as it isn’t here. “May I walk you home, Mademoiselle?”

Adam waits behind Belle as she gathers her belongings and removes the stained, fetid apron. She hangs the thing on a hook and then uses a heel to ease herself around, “It’s only just up a ways. You don’t have to trouble yourself.” 

Adam waves a hand in her general direction, “Don’t be silly. Allow me the honor?” 

She acquiesces, purposely ignoring Gaston’s leering gaze from off to the left of them, “Well, then yes, I’d fancy a stroll with you.”

He offers his arm and she accepts graciously, though he stumbles slightly, as the drink courses through his system heavy and hot still. “Forgive my foolishness — as you know I’ve had one too many this fine, eventful evening. But I’d rather that than be kicked to the cobblestone on account of a wasted table. I’d not have nearly enough fun if that had happened.” 

“You’re very proper. Has anyone ever told you this? Almost…Princely, if I had to reassign your lot in life.” He peers at her through his peripheral vision to see if she’s letting on that she knows who he is — or has suspected all along. 

“I…yes, perhaps once or twice I’ve been told as much. Does it concern you? I can be more like that Gaston in there if that’s what you’re after?” Belle elbows him in his side and he bends forward, coughing a spell as the drink threatens to resurface. 

“Oh! I didn’t mean to push so hard! You’re a bit of a sad story right now, Adam. Come, let’s get you inside.”

He regains his bearings and stares behind them, onto the path they’ve just trekked. Desja is nearby and he knows he cannot allow the horse to remain a full night in an unfamiliar place, no matter how many times he’s been here. “Regrettably, I must be on my way once I’ve seen you arrive safe and sound.” 

“Are you worried for me? Because of Gaston?” He nods but says nothing, allowing his affections to share all that he feels. He holds her hand and leans against her, feeling her weight on him as well. They tread the last few lengths in silence, enjoying a slight breeze that smells of Spring and new life. Of new beginnings. 

They arrive at the base of a set of small steps and she swivels to face him, “This is it. My humble home. Thank you for seeing me to it.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek, but the corner of his lips touches hers and the whole world comes to a grinding halt. 

It’s a wildfire of fervor and a bliss like heaven that descends upon the pair — Adam can’t resist, he slides a hand onto her waist and one to the base of her skull, and kisses her truly. He breathes the girl in and she does the same, dropping her pouch into the garden to embrace him fully. 

He smells of wine and chimney smoke, but also something…regal. Expensive, like floral shampoos and wood-scented lathers. It’s intoxicating but this is neither the time nor place. She stops, gathering herself and him and looks around, “My father is just inside. I…we…can’t…” 

Adam closes his eyes and lowers his mouth to her neck, running his tongue along the salty skin; earthen tones greet and subdue him but he stops it from going any further. She’s not like the others, the ones who would throw themselves at him for a chance to see the linens on his bed. She deserves better then that. 

“Goodnight, ma Belle.” 

He takes her hand one last time and presses it to his lips, holding it there for a moment longer than one typically might. “Where do you live? I’d love to come visit you at home sometime…Instead of always at the tavern.” 

Adam panics a spell and then agrees, emptily, “Perhaps. I live a much greater distance from here though.” 

“That’s why you’re always riding in on that beautiful horse of yours.” His eyes flitter away with regret, “Precisely that.” 

“But I will see you soon…like always?” 

Adam leans down to retrieve her muddy bag and brushes the filth off of its worn leather, “You can most certainly count on it. This is not an ending, ma chérie, but rather the grand start to _our_ story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I needed to end on a big note – which is why this is longer than normal. 
> 
> Bare with me for a second: I am hyper emotional about this – being done even though I could go on and on with these two. And on and on with how much I appreciate and adore every comment, like, kudo, message, or Tumblr follow you've given me. I know it's just a simple challenge, but it's been an amazing one, too. And I couldn't have done it without your support, so thank you from the bottom of my Beast/Adam/Belle loving heart. You've put up with some crazy stuff, so, I'm indebted and will take any request, ever. xoxo
> 
> Of course though, there is much more to come...perhaps even a continuation to this one, as you've no doubt discovered has loose ends of plenty. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I will have all 30 days worth of fics in one thread, so be sure to bookmark if you'd like to stay up to date! And if you're planning on doing it as well, let me know! I'd love to read!


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